


Postcard

by renee_descartes, saltshayker



Series: Fluorescence [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (John is twenty), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Underage Drinking, dave has issues what else is new, really gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 70,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1829518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renee_descartes/pseuds/renee_descartes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltshayker/pseuds/saltshayker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People say when you meet your soulmate, it's immediately clear: you are filled with a sense of joy and love and rightness that you have never felt before. Most people don't have to put up with as much bullshit as Dave Strider. [Based off of this post: http://kenezbian.tumblr.com/post/83532261235]<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 21 Guns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee's notes: co-authored with the lovely saltshayker.tumblr.com who is the wind that keeps my pendulum swinging and wrote all of the John. All of it. John does stuff? it was her. John says things? her. John's POV? ALL HER, BABY. This was originally a roleplay and we're rewriting it. This chapter was beta'd by pianoflute2.tumblr.com, thank you AM! It also comes with musical accompaniment! Because Dave's a musical guy. Line breaks denote pov changes between John/Dave, so it starts out Dave. Try to keep up!  
> Song of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4xGY7l0XCg

There’s a reason you have to be eighteen to get a tattoo. On your eighteenth birthday, everyone gets their first one. Sprawling words appear somewhere on your body depicting the first words you will ever hear out of a mouth that is meant to spend it's life kissing yours. Even after thousands of years, the world is enamored with this concept; it’s the subject of every romance, the conflict of every movie, the topic of at least one conversation you have every day. And after a while, Dave finds that pretty fucking annoying.

Twenty one, halfway through getting a Bachelor's degree in Filmmaking at a large college in New York, and he hadn't met his soulmate yet. At this point, he tells himself he doesn't want to. He's been waiting and looking for a little over three years and all it had gotten him was a lot of disappointment, some jadedness to match and quite a few fights with his sister. Better to focus on the now.

Right now he is set up with his violin because even though he hates playing his music for other people nowadays, his paycheck doesn't come until tomorrow and he doesn't have the money or food in his pantry to eat tonight. Not that he couldn't ask his mom to help him out, or even just go over to his sister Rose's apartment and eat her food, but he had been trying to push his independence as of late. It’s his first time living on his own, after all. So. Metro station. Violin. Old grey t-shirt that says "I take requests" that he wears every time he goes out, case on the ground by his foot with a decent amount of dollar bills, playing Let It Go for the fourth time today because some people just don’t have any taste.

After the last notes are played he bows to the scant applause of those who had stopped to watch him and tries to put some warmth into the smile he gives the little girl who'd requested it. He glances at his case, thinks, _maybe one or two more songs._  He has enough to pay for some groceries and take the bus to tomorrow's classes and damn if he isn't hungry. When no one immediately approaches, he just starts up a little tune, trying to decide if there’s anything he wants to play. He knows a lot of classical. People tend to like songs they recognize better though. Definitely got him more money.

Just as he has a song picked out, he notices this guy who looks maybe sixteen coming up, smiling wide. He drops-jesus, was that a ten?-a note in his case and doesn't request anything, just says, "Play me a song." No matter how many times he heard the words, he always froze for just a moment. It’s like hearing your name, you can't just ignore the words inked into your skin. He stares at this black haired, grinning stranger, and thinks over what he said- _he said it wrong I know he said it wrong added a word missed a word something._  This. This is why he doesn't play in public anymore. Fuck if it doesn't make him angry, that he can't just play this off and ignore him. His emotions are so strong and sudden his whole body feels shaky, weak, pushed off kilter.

He's supposed to be playing. He gives him a nod, thinking it wasn't a specific request so he can play any song he knows, and he can't think of any. Out of every song he’s ever heard, nothing comes to mind until he remembers what he was already going to play. He starts swaying slightly, tapping his foot for a tempo. He doesn't usually sing, but he happens to like this song, so he sings quietly. "Do you know what's worth fighting for, when it's not worth dying for..."

* * *

 

It doesn't matter where you grew up: you know the stories. You know what happens. You can just look around you and see it everywhere; hear the kids gushing about it in schools, see people walking hand in hand, hear stories of how people found each other all the time. The tattoos are something everyone knows and talks about. Back in school, friends would share theirs with each other, kids would latch on to a slip and, if they were especially cruel, would spread it around and dare their peers to say the phrase until it just wasn't funny anymore. The world of kids in high school was a cruel place when it came to something so personal and delicate.

Of course, there were some people who were excited about it. People who kept their secrets because they wanted to be surprised, and kept other’s secrets, because they wanted them to be surprised too. There were some people who woke up thinking _maybe today is the day,_  who went about their entire, mundane days with a sixth sense, listening carefully for their special phrase. People who memorized the handwriting, their soulmates handwriting, on their body and constantly compare it to every lettering they see. People whose every fiber of their being burned to find someone, to find their other half and love them unconditionally.

John Egbert is one of those people. With every step he takes, there is a small voice in the back of his mind chanting, on beat, _Maybe today is the day. Today is probably the day. Yesterday wasn't the day, so there is a good chance that today is the day._  This had been going on since he got out of high school and out of Washington about three years ago. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less, it doesn't really matter to him anymore. He isn't counting the days until he meets his someone, because really only one date matters to him anymore, and he has no idea when it is or how soon it’s coming up. This particular day finds him waiting at the metro station, about an hour early for his train. He has to run some errands, mostly to pick up some food for him and his roommate, and in the bustle of New York City you don’t own a car unless you pay a mortgage too. He had already survived two years of dorm life working on his Bachelor’s degree for biology, and found he quite liked it, despite the obvious downsides: sharing space, small bathrooms, limited in-room resources, and the like.

The day had offered him nothing better to do but sit in the metro station and people-watch, one of his favorite pastimes. Usually no one was doing anything exciting, but today, today is different. Something catches John’s eye- or ear, rather- a little farther away from him and he gathers his bag up on his shoulder and moves down to watch. It was a street performer, if you could call if that. A tall blond guy holding a violin, nodding to someone in front of him before starting to play. Instantly John is fascinated- you don’t hear talent like that out here. Normally it was just people with guitars who only knew three basic chords, or amateur drum circles full of people with no rhythm. Never something classical like this. John tries to keep an eye on the time, but he gets really distracted. He can’t find it in him to care that it’s getting later and later.

Eventually, after the violinist finishes that stupid overplayed song from that one Disney movie everyone knows for a little girl and bows, John decides to get up and request something himself. He tugs out his wallet and discreetly flips through the bills. He wants to hear more from this man, something he actually recognizes and enjoys, so he pulls out a ten from his wallet and stuffs it back into his pocket. He keeps it curled in his palm as he calmly approaches him, a big smile on his face. He drops the ten in the case as he passes it and bounces a little on his toes the rest of the way. He isn't sure at all if this is going to go how he hopes, but he can’t stop the excitement from bubbling up inside him as he starts to speak. “Play me a song.”

The man just stares at him, or so he figures; he’s wearing dark aviator sunglasses that John can’t see through in this light, or from this distance. His head’s pointed towards John, though, so he figures maybe the stranger didn't hear him. Just as he’s about to repeat himself, the stranger nods and starts to play. John steps back a respectful distance to listen again, vaguely recognizing the tune. He isn't expecting the man to start singing, either. _No way. No fucking way, this guy must have looked at his skin and cheated or something, this isn't him, is it?_  Quickly, he puts a hand up to the collar of his shirt to check- it’s completely covering the words on him. All of them. _Oh, oh my god, it’s him. It’s him, it has to be, who else could it be? He’s cute, and he can sing and play violin and-_  John grins widely, not even trying to hide it as he listens with a new awe.

 _Today is definitely the day,_  he thinks to himself as he listens to the man play. Upon closer inspection, he isn't even really a man- probably about John’s age. A few glances around show that he is the only person intently listening, but there are people a little farther away looking over with smiles, and people are dropping cash and coins into the case beside them. John actually decides to pay him again, but hopefully this time it’ll be through a coffee or a meal (or, who knows, maybe both). Assuming he can gather the courage to invite him. He gets lost in his thoughts, the words to the song twisting through everything else in his head.

The violinist finishes the song, ending softly, and John is pulled out of his trance. “Hope you enjoyed.” It’s short, abrupt, as he crouches down and starts quickly counting his profits. Anyone could probably tell the musician didn't want to stay around and chat, but John’s head is a little clouded.

 _Ohh, okay, here it goes, here we go, here I go!_  John’s mind is running a mile a minute as the other starts packing up his things. “Oh, oh, actually, um,” he starts, eloquently, as he walks up to him. John considers kneeling to help and then remembers- he lives in New York City, if he ever did that he’d probably get beaten within an inch of his life, no matter how good his intentions. “Are you busy? Like, right now? Because if you’re not in a rush or something, do you want to go grab coffee and maybe something to eat? I’ll gladly pay for it. I know it’s kind of a weird thing to ask but I figured it wouldn't hurt and I just kind of- have this feeling? About you. Even though I don’t even know you. Okay yeah, that’s my question, that’s all I have to ask. Dinner? On me?” What a train wreck. His nerves make him restless as he awaits an answer, bouncing on his heels. Something tells him he probably shouldn't have even said anything, the voice in his mind starts saying _Stop, John, you’re making an ass of yourself,_  but for once he doesn't listen to it. His heart is hammering out go for it, and to John, that’s the only thing that matters at the moment.

"No. Sorry. You're cute and all, but I'm not looking. For anything. Period. Unless you're offering a job, in which case I'm maybe interested, unless that job is playing music, in which case, still no." The boy’s tone is sharp and he avoids looking up at him. This surely dampens his mood quite a bit, but not enough to deter him completely. His smile has dropped, replaced by strict determination.

“Wait, hold on.” He doesn't want to let him get away, not just yet, not without trying to convince him. “You've been out here taking people’s shitty requests probably all day, I bet you could use a break. How about you just humor me for a short walk to wherever around here you want to go and I’ll buy you dinner, but you don’t even have to talk to me. In fact, I’ll pay for whatever you get, and then just leave the store! How does that sound?” He babbles out the half-thought-through compromise, cracking the knuckles on one hand nervously.

The blonde doesn't answer at first. He lays his violin down, closing the lid to the case and clasping it. John steps back just a little as the guy stands to pocket his cash, nervously bouncing again. He really cannot keep still. “You already bought me dinner,” the blond says, standing much taller than him. It would make John nervous, if he wasn't already. “That’s the only reason that I’m out here. That’s what this,” he gestures to his violin case. “Is for.”

 _Shit, he’s going to say no, I just know it. Here he is, in my hands, and I need to close my fingers so he doesn't slip away._  “Just once. You never have to talk to me again, just let me actually pay for your meal with my own money once and then that’s it.”

For whatever reason, this seems to change something in the other boy. He still seems very reluctant as he says, “Okay, fine. Let’s go get dinner. None of this bullshit, though, if you can stand to be around me long enough then you can eat with me. Or whatever.”

Yes! John can’t help but laugh a little, a stupid, happy noise. “Awesome, thank you!” He can’t believe this! He’s going to ask him all about his life when they get to dinner. Specifically, he wants to find out if the other has already met his soulmate. “I realize that could have been a little weird and I apologize. I am really sorry. I just really want to keep talking to you because I dunno, I think we could be friends maybe! Did you know that I have a friend who plays violin too? I think you’re about as good as she is, and she’s incredible! I bet you guys would get along great. She’s kind of mysterious and creepy but she’s a huge sweetheart.” _Okay, John, time to shut up. All you really had to say was three words, and that was a lot more than three words._  “By the way, I’m John.”

The other looks at him, raising an eyebrow over his cheap-looking shades. “Dave. Look at us, couple of the most generic names out there. Mm-how magical.” _Wait, what?_  It sounded like he meant to say something else, but when he looks at him Dave refuses to say anything more. The blonde picks up his case and starts walking to the exit, long legs moving fast and seemingly without concern for whether or not John’s following. And, with an excited bounce in his step, John jogs to catch up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay's notes: http://renee-descarted.tumblr.com helped me (saltshayker) with this fic and put soooo much effort into it, oh mygod. she is incredible and im having so much fun working on this with her! she did aaaalll of daves parts and she did them fantastically. seriously, literally every little thing dave does is because of her. thank you very much for reading!


	2. The Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alternatively titled: John is like actual euphoria bottled up in a midget with really pretty eyes. Starting to suspect drugs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee's notes: so we can't promise regular or good updates but there should be a lot of them considering I have no life and Shay only has half of one so we spend literally all of our free time writing this. This chapter's pretty much all Dave, and I wrote Rose. This one was beta’d by Loren (junerabbit on AO3) so a huge thanks to her, it means so much to us. The final thank you goes to Shay, for making every day of this stupid project amazing. Poor babe works herself to death over this.  
> Song of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U4B_P_xeBbU

The McDonald’s is about half full when they sit down and only gains customers after that. John eats slowly. Dave inhales. He waits until his mouth isn't full to talk, at least. He has  _some_  manners. He’s a lot more relaxed and pleasant, once he’s got some food in him. Loses the feeling that he wants to throw up or maybe just throw himself onto the train tracks they left at the metro.

"So. Are you a gypsy or something? Psychic? Since you just ‘had a feeling.’” Definitely a deal breaker-he was fully prepared, for his own safety, to stand up and leave the restaurant if he tried to convince him of anything close to that. His answer’s pretty relieving, though, because it means he can keep eating his chicken nuggets.

"No way! Absolutely not, I’m a perfectly down-to-earth kinda guy. Not a down-to-earth’s-inner-voices kinda guy.” He laughs at his own jokes, what a charmer. Dave stares him down, though, determined to get a better reason for why this weirdo had needed to talk to him so bad. John looks a little uncomfortable, shifting in his chair.

“Well.” Maybe he needed to push a little more. “I find myself wondering, why? Why is this stranger so intent on having my company? It’s not even decent company, and no one would dare to call it great.”

While John’s squirming around, a hand comes up to rub at his neck, right under his collar. "Yeah, I'm wondering the same thing too. Like I said earlier, I just have a feeling." When he pulls his hand away from his chest Dave sees the top of what looks like letters and, after a second of starting at it like an idiot, pointedly looks away.

“Your, um.” He points to his collarbone. John’s head jerks down to look, silently opens his mouth then Dave can juuust see the looks of comprehension, then embarrassment as he tugs his shirt up.

“Ah, thanks, sorry.” He doesn't say anything, the whole moment serving to remind him why he didn't want to be here. He didn't feel as emotionally drained as he probably should have, though-actually getting pretty calm. _Weird._

John’s hands drop down under the table, presumably to his lap, and Dave can hear the sounds of him cracking his knuckles again. The kid bites his lip and looks Dave head on, expression kind of hesitant yet- excited? “Actually, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. The whole tattoo thing, I mean, and like. I don’t know.”

_Hell no. Hell fucking no._

He should have stayed home. It really hits him now; he should have gone to Rose’s apartment and ate her food, or told this stupid human puppy to _fuck off, please, why do you want to talk about this._

“I've always thought people talk about it too much. It should be something personal, you know? Just share it with your actual soulmate.” Dave’s voice is curt. He’s hoping maybe that would get him to shut up-it was a topic he definitely didn't want to discuss. Not only that, but those were his honest thoughts on the situation- he felt tattoos should be something special and hidden. He also thought the hundreds of movies/books/comics/stories about it were annoying and people should just grow up and stop bothering him with their bullshit. Life wasn't a fairy tale.

John just hums softly as he takes another bite of his burger, seeming deep in thought. Whatever. Dave waits until the silence gets borderline-uncomfortable to give conversation another try.  “What do you do? Like, existentially.” Way to clarify.

"Oh!” John puts down his burger again, covering his mouth. “I'm a student. My campus isn't terribly far from here, maybe half an hour walking? It's not bad.”

Dave smirks. He’s got the pins all lined up. “A student? Didn't know there were any middle schools around here.”

John rolls his eyes at that, shaking his head a little. “I’m in college. I know I look young, but you do realize I’m twenty years old, right? Majoring in Biology and minoring in Psychology, and I've already heard it all the jokes about it. 'What, are you going to sit down and have therapeutic sessions with plants? Freak!' Anyway, I've also got a couple shifts a week at a little restaurant, too. What about you?"

“I go to a fine arts college. Getting my major in filmmaking and minor in music technology.” He’s already done eating, thinks he probably shouldn't have scarfed his food down that fast but it’s too late now.

“Music technology? What’s that, like MTV?” He crumples up the greasy burger wrapper, leaving it to the side and starts picking at his fries.

MTV. _What has this world come to._ “Jesus Christ, no! No way, it is so much better than that. Music technology is like technology that goes into making music. We learn how to use PA systems and do labs with room acoustics, or do projects like making our own music videos, and I have a class that’s specifically just for synthesizing and mixing music on computer programs and turntables, which is my other instrument.” He’s so glad he picked it as his minor, even though sometimes it feels like he already knows everything because his uncle Dirk has been teaching him these things for years.

John’s staring at him, completely absorbed in what he’s saying. “Turntables? That’s pretty neat. I can’t say I've ever met anyone who plays those before. So what, are you looking to go backstage and work for theaters and stuff?”

“Nah, I just use those to DJ, but I want to actually be a director. Or maybe a screenwriter, if I wasn't complete shit at it. Something with movies, anyways.” He shrugs, looking around. He thought he’d be home by now. At least he got food.

John nods at that, looking excited again. “You know, I actually wanted to be an actor. Or a comedian. Both would have been preferable, actually, but unfortunately neither one is really my calling.”

“What, ‘cause you’re not funny?” He gives him a little grin.

“Hey!” His brow furrows and he actually looks kind of offended. “I’m totally funny, you just haven’t seen it yet.”

“Right.” He starts gathering his trash, pushing back from the table and getting rid of his tray before moving back to the table. This time, he doesn't sit down. “It’s getting pretty late. Well. It’s not getting late, I just didn't plan on being out this long.”

John nods, looking a little more...droopy than before. “Yeah. Sorry I kept you out so long, but thank you for humoring me and coming with me here.”

It’s still pretty damn surreal that he came out here with some stranger just because he had a _feeling_. “Thanks for dinner.” The inner voice that is Rose-or maybe it’s his mom?-says _make some friends!_  He looks so sad, too. Like a kicked puppy. “Do you have a pesterChum?”

His face lights up and he jerks into action, smiling way too hard. “Yeah! I’m surprised actually, most people don’t, which you probably know already, haha. It seems to be an ancient kind of thing nowadays. Like MySpace. Remember MySpace? Damn. And when Facebook first came out. Dude, I feel old.” Jesus, this guy likes to talk. Not that Dave really has room to complain. He pulls out a pen, clicking it then hissing and sucking on his fingertip.

It doesn't click for Dave for a second, but when it does his laugh is short and honest in a way that comes from just not expecting it. “Did you? Did you really? Awesome.” He doesn't know anyone that just carries around a fake pen. “What do you even need a pen for? Just, here-” he gets his phone out and brings up pesterChum. “What’s your handle?”

“It’s ectoBiologist. That’s with a capital B.” He speaks around his thumb.

“I know how chumhandles work bro.” He types it in and pockets it, contact request sent. “Right, so, thanks again I guess, it wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be and all.”

John nods, gathering up all the trash from the table and standing, taking the tray. “Sure! Thank you for joining me. I’ll uh, see you around, I guess?”

He flashes a thumbs up and turns to leave, only stopped when he hears, “Dave?” He spins back around and John points down, to Dave’s side of the table. What-right. His violin. God, he hopes he’s not blushing.

“Shit, thanks.” He picks it up, waves and hurries out the door, embarrassed.

It’s about twenty minutes to get home, back to the apartment he would've shared with his sister if she didn't already live with her soulmate. It’s a relief to be home though, just kick off his shoes and then he only has one last thing to do. He takes his violin out of the case and flips it over, counting the tally marks just barely scratched into the wood. “John, number eight.” He grabs a knife from the kitchen and caves one more line into it, and then he can sleep.

* * *

The walk back to his dorm seems incredibly short for John, despite being quite a few miles away. A hundred different thoughts rush through his mind, most of them along the lines of _holy shit, I met my soulmate today. I sat with him, talked with him, we’re going to be friends, it finally happened. Today was the day._ His feet take him to his dorm’s door before he even realizes it, and he pushes inside after unlocking the door. No one is home, the window is cracked half open, and his roommate’s side of the dorm is clean. Not so much his. John pushes the dirty clothes off of his bed and onto the floor, kicking them under the bed with the others, and throws himself down on the covers. He _has_ to tell someone, and without Jake... He whips out his phone and messages the first person he can think of.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] started pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--   
EB: rose, oh my god, you will never believe what happened to me today.   
TT: Why hello John, it's wonderful to hear from you as always.   
EB: yeah, i know, i'm just the coolest guy around.   
EB: speaking of pretty cool guys, i need to talk to you!   
TT: Yes, I gathered that.   
TT: In person or will texting suffice?   
EB: texting will be fine.   
EB: although, the next time i see you in person, chances are i will still be thinking about it.   
TT: Alright, so tell me.   
EB: i think i met my soulmate today!   
TT: Really?   
EB: yeah!   
EB: at the metro station.   
TT: Congratulations!   
EB: thanks! i haven't seen his words yet, but i'm almost certain it's him.   
EB: actually, he was playing a violin, like you do.   
TT: A musician?   
EB: yep.   
TT: And what was this mysterious, presumably handsome, stranger like?   
EB: definitely handsome.   
EB: he has a super nice jaw, and shoulders to die for. it's probably dangerous to be around him, with how clumsy i've proved to be.   
EB: ahaha, that was the stupidest thing i've ever said.   
TT: I can't say I'm in agreement.   
EB: what, you have something stupider on me?   
TT: Several things.   
TT: Need I remind you of your nineteenth birthday?   
EB: no, no. that's fine.   
EB: i appreciate the gesture, though.   
TT: Of course.   
TT: Well, do I get to know more?   
EB: he was kind of snippy and rude to me at first, actually.   
TT: What a shame.   
EB: yeah, he warmed up a bit though. i convinced him to eat dinner with me, because i really think he's the thing.   
EB: we walked to mcdonald's. romantic, right? he got like, twenty chicken nuggets.

John drops his phone momentarily and grabs one of his textbooks. He pushes some of the shit on his desk to his bed where he was just laying and finds his notebook, fully intending to read over and review his chapter notes. But then he starts thinking about dinner again, about how Dave was less and less reluctant to spend time with him the more they talked. He didn’t seem entirely into the idea of meeting again at the end, but he did say he wanted to keep talking! At least, that’s what John can infer, since they exchanged chumhandles- _shit, we didn’t exchange, I just gave him mine!_ Now he has to wait until Dave messages him instead. His phone buzzes on the bed and, eager to see who it is, he jumps up and grabs it. Oh, it’s just Rose. He almost forgot he was talking to her.

TT: Sounds like a character flaw.   
EB: hehe. it could be, i don't know him well enough yet.   
EB: i actually have no idea when i'm going to see him again.   
TT: So what was this handsome stranger’s name?   
EB: oh yeah!   
EB: it's dave.

Rose doesn’t reply immediately, so he goes back to his notes. She’s probably busy doing something else at the same time. Maybe studying, like he is, because even though it’s late, he has a really important test on this chapter on Thursday morning- only four days from now. He seriously needs to do well on this, apparently it’s a huge part of his grade. A couple more minutes pass before John gets suspicious and checks his phone again. No new messages. Irritated, he shoots her a couple messages. _Come on, Rose, this is a big deal! A very serious conversation! I shouldn’t be sitting here doing my biology homework during something this important. Ugh._

EB: rose, come on!   
EB: this is a very big deal.   
EB: i can’t believe you’re abandoning me right now.   
EB: in my time of need.   
TT: Is it really.   
EB: finally!   
EB is it really my time of need?   
EB: or is his name really dave?   
EB: i guess the answer for both is yes.   
EB: why?   
TT: Tall, blonde, eyebrow piercing, constantly wears sunglasses and a beanie.   
EB: that's him! i think. he didn’t have an eyebrow piercing.   
EB: that i could see, at least.   
EB: he also wasn’t wearing a beanie when i met him, but i saw one with him at dinner.   
EB: have you met him too?   
TT: I might have.   
TT: I only know two people with such a ridiculous devotion to wearing sunglasses at all times.   
TT: Did I tell you my brother moved back to New York in July?   
EB: no, you didn't. what does that have to do with anything, though?   
EB: we’re kind of talking about something serious here, rose.   
EB: you may have already met your soulmate and had everything work out, but i can’t say the same, and you need to help me with this!   
TT: John.   
TT: Maybe I should clarify.   
TT: Both of said eye apparel-enthusiasts are related to me.   
TT: One of them is my fraternal twin, even.   
EB: okay…? how does this relate to the guy who might be my soulmate, though? there are a lot of people in nyc who wear sunglasses, it's kind of a sunny place sometimes.   
TT: Honestly.   
TT: I know you have a brain in there somewhere.   
TT: Do try to take it for walks sometimes.   
EB: wait   
EB: no, oh my god.   
EB: wait, no, hold on.   
EB: tell me more?   
TT: I can promise you what you're thinking is right.   
TT: Unless you're thinking something absolutely stupid.   
TT: Are you, John?   
EB: usually.   
EB: but yeah, right now, yes! this is ABSOLUTELY stupid!   
EB: please tell me it’s not what i think it is.   
EB: please.   
TT: …   
EB: rose, is my dave, the dave who is probably my soulmate, also your dave, your dearest brother dave?   
TT: That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, yes.   
EB: holy shit.   
EB: holy SHIT, rose!   
TT: Indeed.

Jesus Christ. There was no way! She had to be pulling his leg or something, right? Ugh, this was starting to hurt John’s head. Dave was supposed to be his soulmate guy, not Rose’s brother guy. He ignores his phone for a moment, dropping his head to his arms. The more he thinks about it, imagines Dave’s face in his mind, he can see it. Rose said they were fraternal twins, right? Ugh, they have the same faces and everything, of _course._ John just couldn’t tell because of the glasses, but even then, he should have recognized him from all the photos hanging up in Rose’s apartment, _oh my GOD how could I have been so dumb?_ He picks his head up, reluctantly messaging her again.

EB: you’re kidding me, right?   
EB: bluh! i don't want to think about this.   
TT: Really?   
TT: Here I was thinking you'd want me to spill on my brother.   
EB: well yeah, obviously i want to know more about him!   
EB: but isn't that kind of dishonest?   
TT: How noble of you.   
EB: i really don't want to think of him as your brother.   
TT: At least promise me that if dearest David does something absolutely ridiculous, you'll tell me right away and make my job of cleaning up his personal failings a little easier?   
EB: what are you implying here, lalonde?   
TT: I didn't think I was implying anything, John.   
TT: Merely requesting.   
EB: fine, whatever, if anything big happens i'll let you know.   
EB: i'll probably tell you about all the small stuff, too.   
TT: Grand.   
EB: did i mention he almost left his violin at mcdonald's?   
TT: You certainly did not.   
EB: he did! he totally did. i gave him my chumhandle for pesterchum, and he was kinda smiley and almost walked off without it.   
EB: i actually had to call him back to get it, haha.   
TT: Fascinating.   
TT: It's a shame I won't be able to tease him about this.   
EB: geez, i don't want him thinking i'm gossiping about him.   
EB: to his SISTER of all people.   
EB: btw i’m still in denial about that.   
TT: Your secret is safe with me.   
TT: Although I do think I'll be needing to speak with him now.   
EB: now? what about?   
EB: did he text you?   
TT: No.   
TT: And that's precisely the problem.   
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] is now an idle chum!--   
EB: rose???   
EB: rose!   
EB: oh come on.   
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

 _God damn it, what does that even mean? Rose! Now is not the time to do this ominous, vague-sounding shit! This is important!_ John sighs and throws his phone onto the bed where it belongs, when the familiar ding of Pesterchum starts again, several times. What could she possibly want this time?

John pushes his chair back quickly, legs screeching against the floor, and swipes his phone up. He’s fully prepared to snap at Rose, but the new handle filling his screen suggests other plans. He opens the messages just in time to see the other user sign off, and starts reading the bright red text.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--   
TG: it is i the mighty kung fu master   
TG: surely you have heard of me i am feared throughout the land   
TG: unfortunately your own personal ass kicking will have to wait   
TG: busy day tomorrow gotta get some sleep   
TG: so   
TG: later   
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

That must have been Dave. It sure sounded like him. A surge of excitement goes through his belly and he’s back to grinning like an idiot, his work completely forgotten. He’s a little upset he couldn’t reply, sure, but Dave typed _really fucking fast_ and apparently had to sleep. Granted, so did John, since he had class early the next morning. He once again abandons his phone, this time to dress himself in his pajamas and crawl into bed, wondering where Jake went and even more confused than he had been an hour ago. At least today was the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a great scene that just barely didn't make the cut, if anyone wants to see it: http://renee-descartes.tumblr.com/post/89603815963/very-srs-dialogue  
> Shay's notes: we put a LOT of work into this one and let it be known that FUCK FORMATTING PESTERLOGS and i also HELD IN A PEE FOR A COUPLE HOURS to finish this. ALSO MASSIVE THANKS to my co-writer for putting so much effort into this chapter!


	3. Chelsea Dagger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee’s Notes: Sorry the update took so long, Shay had a busy week and then we wasted several days playing Town of Salem. God, it’s so addicting.  
> This chapter changes POV a lot, presumably because we made it up on the spot. It’s the first scene without any basis on the roleplay, so let’s celebrate by pretending it’s not as terrible as it is! WOO! I swear we spend more time being idiots than writing, so if you ever want a laugh check out #fluoroupdates on either of our blogs.  
> Thanks this round go to Loren, for being the best beta. We are the luckiest bitches to have her. Also to Shay, because I could spend several pages writing about how sweet and bright and beautiful she is. Finally is for you, dearest readers! You are a lot of the reason we keep writing; I swear I keep this page open all the time and tell Shay every time we so much as get another hit and then we cheer about it.  
> Last news is we have our first fanart! By Shay XD it's not even entirely canon, just a sort of rough draft but hot damn it's great, so, enjoy http://37.media.tumblr.com/bfefb5e44413f177d02c465aae57a5ea/tumblr_n7o3wdYv761s927i6o1_1280.jpg

After getting some time to think about it, Dave decides John is not as awful as Dave wishes he was. Because if he was awful, maybe he could stop thinking about him. Not that he sits around imagining his dreamy blue eyes, oh no. It’s just that sometimes he’ll be doing something totally normal, mixing music maybe, and one thought will lead to another and soon enough he realizes he’s spent three minutes imagining the way John’s hair falls above his eyes.

And Jesus, those eyes. Black frames and a few panes of glass do nothing to hide what are almost unnaturally blue peepers.  He’s never had problems meeting someone’s eyes before- why would he? It’s not like they could see where he’s looking. But there were moments when John was staring at him that felt almost physical with how it hit him, where he had to look away for fear of freezing. Like a really, really hot medusa. With a dick.

It’s a lot harder to rationalize when the thoughts sneak up on him. The idea of them having anything together was a fantasy. Sure, most people had looser ideals than they used to, but he wasn’t prepared to get labeled one of the new-age protesters determined to fight their tattoos. He couldn’t remember even a single hint John was into him, just that he for some godforsaken reason wanted to see Dave again.

So Dave tries not to think about how he would totally be up for something more.

Monday is mostly spend sitting around in the little CD shop he works at, telling hipsters that _No, we don’t carry African trance CDs, would you like me to order it for you?_ John texts him a few times but between that and his morning class, he doesn’t have much time to chat. Their schedules don’t match up on Tuesday either, so their conversations have hours between each reply and don’t really include anything important. Wednesday, Dave stops avoiding John’s hints that they should get together again and asks him about his work/class schedule. Thursday, Dave puts his plan into action.

* * *

 The days pass slowly. John’s mind feels strangely empty without his constant mantra playing in the background, because today wasn’t the day, he had already had the day. It already happened, and he keeps replaying it in his head. Their conversations roll through and all he can do is watch it like a movie, notations about what he should have done differently sticking out for every recap. He thinks about Dave’s face a lot, liking to think he notices more about him the more he thinks about it, but realistically he knows he’s probably just making stuff up. Like the little flecks of rust on the rims of his sunglasses, or the holes by his eyebrow, the worn edges of the collar of his Requests shirt. John imagines these things would be there even if he hadn’t noticed them.

It distracts him a lot, for several days.

There were several times he had to get notes from a classmate, or completely slipped up an order at work, or left the door to the mini fridge wide open at home. It’s starting to get dangerous, with things like leaving the stove on and spacing out when talking to customers. At this point in the week, he could have gotten himself killed already, or worse: fired!

Look at him, getting sidetracked again. Right now he’s at work, supposed to be cleaning off the open tables in his area of the diner, not rubbing the dirty washcloth around in one spot. Ugh. At least Thursday afternoons weren't too busy. John shakes his head and deems the table clean enough, taking the towel back to the kitchen and dumping it with the others. Someone else will take care of it, he has people to serve. Someone back there calls out an order and he picks it up, nodding to the chef. Let’s see, this is for table… Seven. He takes it there, to a pretty redheaded girl sitting alone. _She was cute,_ John thinks to himself and glances at the door as the bell rings.

John is standing near the back of the store, by the kitchen again, so the new customer coming in can’t see him too well, but damn if that wasn’t one-sided. The newcomer is tall and wearing a beanie, and John’s heart jumps to his throat as he turns around. _Oh my god, is that who I think it is?_ He had told Dave where he worked, of course, he asked just yesterday, but John didn’t think he would actually show up! Oh god, did his hair look okay? Did he smell alright? He probably smelled like kitchen cleaning and greasy food, oh god. His hands weren’t even clean, there was dirt under his fingernails, shit!

Dave, as John has now determined, heads over to Rez, the cute and feisty redhead manning (womanning?) the podium, and John takes the chance to run back to the kitchen.

“Oops! Excuse me, I need this real fast, sorry,” he babbles and grabs a shiny new metal tray, holding it up in front of him and messing with his hair. Holy shit, this would be so much easier with a mirror, why didn’t he just go to the bathroom to do this? John eventually gives up at his hair and tugs at his collar, leaving the kitchen calmly-but-not. He straightens out his dumb dark blue button-down shirt and his stupid fucking black apron thing and looks around, waiting for Dave to come over.

Actually, he’s still over talking to Rez. And he’s leaning pretty close to her, smiling as she tosses her head back and cackles in that way only she does. John squints, a little suspicious. _What the hell is he doing?_ He doesn’t have to wait much longer as Rez points over to him and Dave turns over. He holds a hand up in a little wave, and whether it’s for her or Dave he doesn’t know. Rez grins at him and Dave smirks and kind of flicks out his hand from his wrist. Was that a wave? God, he can feel his cheeks heating up already.

Rez grabs a menu for him and leads him to a table near where John is standing and looking like a dumbass. She’s obviously sashaying on the walk there, and he can’t help but feel some resentment. However, it’s totally unjustified, since he had never mentioned anything to her about Dave. At least, enough for her to recognize him.

Dave’s smile kind of dies down as he comes closer, and Rez playfully pushes him out of the way to sit Dave in the booth he’s standing directly in front of. Of course. “You boys have fun now!” She says it way too cheerily, swaying back across the restaurant again.

John watches her go, making a mental note to bitch at her later. "Bye, Terezi." His attention is grabbed once more as Dave starts speaking, and he looks over to him.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to surprise you since we haven’t been able to meet up but if you’d rather I just leave I can totally do that, I mean I probably should have told you I was coming, yeah, dick move, feel free to stop me anytime here.”

Oh shit, Dave’s being fidgety and weird. John’s stomach sinks as he realizes that Dave definitely thinks John doesn’t want him here. John hurriedly steps forward to the edge of his table and shakes his head, trying to reassure him. “No! No, it’s okay, shut up. It’s rad that you came over, really, it’s so boring here and I’ve been thin-” _thinking about you a lot._ “Uh, working a lot, on school and stuff, sorry I’ve been so busy, but this is cool.” Shit, he has to say his intro. It’s like the diner’s Miranda Rights or something. “Hi, uh, welcome to The Finer Diner. My name is John and I’ll be your server today! What can I get you to start with?” He smiles nervously, holding up his notepad, and god he’s a bit embarrassed. His cheeks are burning and he can’t quite look Dave in the eye. Er, shades.

Those shades stare right at him, his expression with his partly open mouth practically screaming, _are you being serious right now._ And then he just laughs, and shakes his head slightly. What does that mean? “Does this fine establishment serve alcohol?” His lips are twitching a bit like he’s trying to hold back a smile. John nods and pulls out a small alcohol menu from the back pocket of his apron, setting it down in front of Dave. He doesn’t even look at it.

“We have a wide selection of regional and craft beers, plus some white and red wines-”

Dave interrupts him, “Nah, can I get a Slippery Nipple?”

A- what? “Um?” What the fresh fucking hell is a Slippery Nipple? “I don’t think we serve those here,” his voice is a million octaves higher and is very small and his face is certainly bright pink, it must be, because it feels like it’s about to fall off.

Dave starts guffawing at him, and John frowns. He’s only kind of offended. “Certainly you’re more mature than that,” he scolds him, without much bite to his tone. He’s got to chew his lip to keep from laughing too, because when you hear something like that, usually your only options are to join in, leave the scene, or be a cold, heartless void of stoicism. Thanks to his training for this kind of thing, he can do it, but only in uniform. It doesn't help that Dave's pretty when he's laughing.

“No, no, it’s a real drink! It’s got like, Irish cream or something,” he’s still laughing softly, wiping at his eyes underneath his shades. “I’m screwing with ya though, just gimme a Coke?”

Is he crying? Jesus Christ. It wasn’t that funny, was it? ...Okay, no, John realizes Dave was probably laughing at him. “Thanks, dick,” he shakes his head. “What kind of coke? We have a lot of soft drinks, you have to be specific.” At this point John figures Dave just wants a Coca-Cola, but there’s no harm in making fun of his southern personality, is there?

Eventually Dave stops laughing and just kind of stares at him. “You know what I mean, John,” he sighs, and chuckles a little again. Geez, his reaction must have been great if Dave’s still laughing at him.

He frowns again, closing his notepad and tucking it away again. “Alright, I’ll have that right out for you. And-” he adds an afterthought, before walking away. “Try not to flirt with my co-workers too much? You can’t have _all_ of us distracted by you on the job.” He winks and practically bounds back to the kitchen.

* * *

 Mission: Fuck With John is on the fast track with success. Or it would be, if John wasn’t matching him for every tease and joke. He can’t say he’s not having fun. He also can’t say he’s not blushing. Not without lying, at least.

Looks like the flirting thing was up, though. He felt kind of bad about it, even though John didn’t seem upset. He reasons that he originally flirted with Terezi to make sure he got this table, but he still knows he planned on doing it more. She was pretty interesting, too. Maybe a little bit strange, but that just added to it. Still, he was here for a different employee.

John comes back with his coke soon enough and feeds him more of the mandatory shtick: “Can I interest you in any appetizers today?” Dave pushes his shades down a little so he can look at him above them and pointedly drag his eyes all the way down.

“Depends, are you on the menu?” John stares at him in disbelief, shaking his head after a moment.

"Jesus," he mutters under his breath. He rubs his face but it doesn’t make the insane blush any lighter. “I am not.” His voice cracks so he clears his throat and tries again. “I am not, but I’ll gladly list the items that are.”

It’s tempting, but Dave finds a little mercy in his heart. “Nah, I read the menu. Can I just have some french fries? Like that’s it, that’s all I want. Well. Besides you I mean.” That one wasn’t as clever but he’s still so proud of himself.

It still earns him another blush and John tries to play it off with a laugh, but Dave notices how he fumbles with putting his notebook away. _Mm, only two o’clock and my day is going so well._

“Right, that’ll be just a few minutes.” He turns and goes, presumably, back to the kitchen or to less annoying customers. Dave sits, content, looking around. It’s a nice place. Not somewhere he’d usually go, but nice. Terezi passes by once or twice, seating other groups and winks at him, which is great.

He thinks it’s maybe ten minutes before John comes back with a plate of hot, (hopefully) delicious french fries. “Awesome!” He gives a little grin. He actually hasn’t eaten in a while.

John gives him a big grin and kind of hovers around the edge of the table. He must not want to leave. "Can I do anything else for you?"

 _God, he’s cute._ Dave sighs theatrically, like everything is just _oh so disappointing._ “Since you’re working, probably not. I’d be more than happy with your company when you get off though,” he smiles sincerely for once. John nods at him, smiling again.

"Yeah, okay. I'm off at three? I know it's like half an hour or more away, but I mean, as long as you don't look like you're loitering you could probably hang out here."

“Sounds like a plan. Shouldn’t you be getting back to work though? Don’t deprive the other customers of your dorky face.” He smirks at him again, making a little shooing motion with his hand. John winks at him again and pops away, stopping around the other occupied tables in the area, frequenting the kitchen. Not that Dave looks up, hopeful, every time he hears his voice.

He sits there the entire time, picking at his fries and looking around and texting his sister for lack of anything better. She’s been acting weird for a while, though. Increasingly passive aggressive and acting like she was waiting for him to admit something she already knew, it honestly freaked him out more than anything else.

Nobody but John and Terezi even looks at him and eventually it gets to three o’clock. Dave gets impatient pretty fast waiting for him but maybe five or ten minutes past the hour, John comes up to his table again. He’d already cleared it and taken Dave's bill, so all that's left now is just to blow this popsicle stand. "Hey, sorry! There was some backstage stuff to get through. But I am all yours now!"

He nods, relaxing, and gestured towards the seat across from him. “Awesome.” He gets another blank look from John before he sits down.

“I can’t stay too long,” he starts, leaning back against the booth and running a hand through his hair. It makes the locks stick up even more and looks kind of ridiculous, but also kind of adorable, which is even more ridiculous. And then he’s distracted by looking at him again, great. “I have a thing at the food bank a couple blocks away from here in an hour.”

“Really?” Well, that’s unfortunate. Good for whoever needs him, he guesses, but sad they can’t hang out. He tries to put it out of his mind. “How noble of you, spending your hard-earned free time volunteering when you could be, say, playing Portal.”

He’s pretty sure he hears John wincing at that, although he can’t say for sure. “Well… It wouldn’t hurt to skip out on a day, I guess. It’s not like a shift or anything, really, I just show up every couple of days. I could claim illness.”

It’s entirely like John, to be so willing to spend time with him, and the thought hits him kind of hard. He thinks he stutters a little when he replies, “Skipping class for me? Oh, John, what would your parents think- you used to be such a good kid, always did your homework, and now the principal's calling.” Before he’s even halfway done John is grinning and shaking his head at him.

“Arguably, I am a nerd, but I’m not that much of a nerd! It’s not even that big of a deal, really. They have plenty of people to help out, I won’t be missed.”

Dave nods and fidgets with his napkin. “Alright. Sadly that only gives us another hour unless I skip class, which I miiiiight be willing to do,” he flashes him a little smile.

John pulls on the other end of his napkin, like an insistent puppy. He lets him take the it but then he has nothing to fidget with so he runs his hands over the back of his head over his beanie, habit to make sure it was sitting right. “You really should go to class, although of course I am not opposed to spending more time with you.”

“It’s just a bullshit music theory class, I can afford to miss one lecture.” He says it all casual, like he’s not excited for the prospect of just hanging out. John doesn’t reply, just smiles really big and folds up that napkin a lot, and _what the fuck is he doing? Some kind of origami?_ John raises an eyebrow at him, still grinning with all thirty-two of his teeth, and shoves the napkin at him. He picks it up and-he still has no idea what the fuck it is. It just looks like a jumbled mess of soft paper.

“It’s a crane,” John says matter-of-factly. It takes Dave another moment to stare at it, and yeah, he can kind of see it, if he rejects all sense of reason.

He doesn’t really have a reaction for that and he seems so proud, he’s afraid if he says anything it’ll come out painted asshole red like just about everything else that escapes his head. So he fidgets with his new bird friend. “So looks like we’ve got several hours to kill, what’cha up for?”

* * *

 It’s an understatement to say that John is excited. He had been since Dave sat down in his restaurant too, but now it was even worse, when he was leading him through the streets of the busy city. There are several times along the walk he wants to reach out and grab his hand, but he has a little more self-control than he thinks, although he has to mess with the hem of his shirt.

Dave keeps asking him where they’re going, in different ways every time, _You have to tell me so I can blog about it just in case I get murdered. Seriously, John, how do I know you’re not gonna murder me? God, we could be heading to your BDSM dungeon right now and no one would ever know. Are you takin’ me t’ Harlem Mr. Egbert? Oh Johnny boy, won’tcha please tell me?_ John had to threaten to blindfold him to get him to shut up, which earned him another dirty joke or twelve.

Somehow they make it to one of the lesser populated parks in the area. John likes this one in particular because of the giant fountain in the middle of it, but there are a lot of nice open spaces and pretty gazebos scattered across. There are a few kids and people walking their dogs around, too, but most have stayed inside instead of braving the cold and the fountain’s deserted.  Perfect! He starts leading Dave to it, pointing. “That’s our destination. Sorry it’s not a dungeon, haha.”

“...You couldn’t have told me it was just a fucking park.” He turns to stare him down. The look does nothing to phase him, and he brushes Dave off as he sits on the edge of the fountain, right into a puddle. Amazing.

Dave sighs and shakes his head in a way that makes John suspect he’s rolling his eyes behind those shades. He sits beside him carefully, not getting wet. “There’s not even any whips or chains anywhere. God, I’m so disappointed.” John chuckles at him, spreading his knees and looking down at the grass under his feet.

“I’m sure if we tried hard enough we could make enough daisy chains to tie you up.” In the second that he pauses, the weight of his words sinks in, and he turns away to hide his face. _Holy shit, that was so uncalled for, I probably scared him away, I’m not going to turn around because then I’ll just see him walking away and I won’t be able to stop looking at his butt and then I’ll start thinking about him actually being tied up and naked and-_ Shit. He keeps his upper body turned away, his cheeks unbelievably warm. He leans down and starts picking up blades of grass to mess with in hopes of playing his internal freakout off.

Dave’s first reaction is to bark out a laugh.  John guesses it was pretty damn funny, even though Dave’s quickly turning beet red and embarrassed-looking. “Flower bondage, seriously Egbert? Damn if you ain’t unique.”

Haha, yeah, how crazy would that be. “What? You gotta admit, it’d be kind of cute. Tell me it wouldn’t. Even if it sounds like something a couple of hippies would do.”

He chuckles again. “Yeah, well, maybe some other time. Gotta save that shit for the bedroom John, wouldn’t wanna scare the kiddies.” Then he starts toeing off his high-tops. What is he doing? He keeps an eye on him. Soon enough Dave's turned around, sticking his feet in the fountain without a care in the world. “God, it feels nice. Come on, John, stick your feet in!”

Ah, so that's what he was up to. "You're like a five year old," he laughs, slipping his tennis shoes and socks off and plunging his feet in too. "It's cold!" He yelps a little, flinching and laughing again. The sudden temperature difference stings his feet and the most he can do to stop it is curl and uncurl his toes. He's so focused on the water and the way his feet morph under it that he doesn't even notice Dave getting this look on his face like he’s planning something.

And then it’s too late. Dave grabs him by the front of his shirt and drags him sideways into the fountain.

He shrieks as he's pulled under, getting absolutely soaked in the water. His surprise turns into more of a really deep gasp as the cold water seeps into his bones and his head goes under. He pops up quickly, just staring at Dave. "Dude!" The other boy is just as drenched as he is, looking surprised that he fell in too. "What the hell!" He can't stop himself from laughing. Who the hell is this guy?

At first Dave gasps loudly, just as in shock from the cold, and then he laughs, loud and honest. Water is splashed all the way up to his shades though his hair doesn't look wet. He cups water in his hands best he can and throws it at John, laughing hard and loud.

John makes a loud noise again, snorting out laughter as the water hits him. He throws an arm across the water and splashes him back, a large wave (for a fountain) heading towards him. Dave yells, shoving him and trying desperately to push him back far enough to drown him in the foot of water there is. He’s quickly stopped by John’s hands grabbing onto his arms, pushing against him until they both of them are held mostly upright by each other’s force.

“Let go,” John wheezes, snickering uncontrollably. By this point he is absolutely soaked from head to toe, and he can’t for the life of him remember what it’s like to be dry.

“You let go.” It comes out like a challenge. Dave’s smirking at him, smug even though he looks like a doofus with his shades hanging half off of his face, and John narrows his eyes, tightening his grip. He shakes his head back at him- he’s not going to back down from a little wrestling in a park fountain, even if it is illegal.

Speaking of which.

After a minute of staring him down, Dave gets this panicked look on his face, eyes going all wide. “Err. John? We need to go. Now. Just slowly and calmly get out of the fountain.” He lets go of his arms.

As Dave starts to stand, John can’t contain his single moment of smug victory, and he grins up at him. Dave’s standing tall above him, hair stuck to his face, eyes trained somewhere far away. His clothes are all stuck to him and it looks like it’s a little hard to move, but John isn’t complaining. There are little droplets of water dripping off of his hair, his face, his clothes.

“Dude. Get out of the fountain, come on.” John snaps out of ogling his friend and gets up, slowly as instructed. He looks over his shoulder and sees a woman walking across the grass on the other side of the park, looking away from them. She’s dressed in all black and is wearing a telltale hat, and as soon as it clicks in John’s head, he hisses out a curse.

" _Shit_." It's a vicious and violent breath. He's terrified now; what if they get _arrested_?! Oh god, oh shit, fuck shit no no no! "I can't go to jail, Dave! I have a scholarship! Jesus, what if we get caught here and it shows up on my record? There's nothing on there yet Dave!" At this point, he's scrambling out of the fountain, splashing water all over the place. It feels like he smacks his shin against the edge of the fountain as he leaps over it but there's so much adrenaline in his system he doesn't even feel it. "If they find anything on there, they might take my scholarship away- oh holy shit, then what would Dad think of me? I'm supposed to be here to have fun and get a job, not have fun and get locked up! No one is going to hire a twenty-year-old who got arrested for playing in a fountain, what if I'm unemployed my whole life? Dave, dude, please, you've got to get me out of here, I can't go, do you know what will happen to me? I'll die! I'll die!" John's got a death grip on Dave's sopping wet jacket, power-limping away from their crime scene. It's a good thing his lungs work just fine, because right now, it's starting to feel like they aren't going to make it.

Dave can’t even get his shades off to wipe the water of with how John’s pulling him, trying to shush him ineffectually. “John. John stop freaking out, _John_.” That gets him to shut up, at least. “She’s not even looking at us, there’s no proof that we’re wet because of the fountain, we’re not gonna get in trouble, just stop freaking out.” His shoulders are grabbed suddenly and Dave makes him stop so he can breathe and calm down. “Okay?”

She’s not even looking? John turns as much as he can with Dave’s hold on him, watching the officer get smaller and smaller through the water droplets on his glasses. She’s not even looking! He starts laughing, the sound hysterical, until it just turns into a loud, uncontrollable giggle. He turns back to Dave in disbelief, pointing behind him. “She’s not even looking!”

Dave stares at him, then just shakes his head and gets his shades off to get them dry, hissing at the sudden light. It gets John to shut up a bit, down to a few snickers here and there. He starts walking in no particular direction, just forward, leaving puddles behind him as he walks. His hair is a long, straight mess, stuck flat to his face, but Dave seems a little better. He’s not freaking out, at least, which is something. One of them needs to have a level head. Dave catches up to him quickly, almost getting ahead of him with his long legs. “If hanging out with you means going to jail or even the threat of it, then you can kiss my ass goodbye, mister.”

Dave rolls his eyes at him. “You gotta admit that was fun.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay's Notes: yo its tru i actually had a sUPER BUSY WEEK after like wednesday and then we decided to treat ourselves and then next thing u kno its been like six days or eight or some shit who even knows at this point anyway sorry this chap took forever it was difficult to write but we had a lot of fun! i think this whole project is gonna be v interesting and exciting :) :) :) and thank you to loren again! she rocks and is a fantastic beta and a super moirail


	4. Strawberry Swing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee’s notes: Fun fact! I’ve chosen all the chapter titles so far-they get discussed and approved by Shay but I’m always the one to nominate them, weirdly enough. Thank you to all readers, everyone who’s ever spent a minute on this thing. Thank you to Shay, the lovely nerdo, and to Loren who continues to be fucking all-knowing and smart as hell and gracious enough to beta-read.  
> EDIT: Shay and I hashed out a timeline and realized we fucked up a little, so I went back and made a couple REALLY MINOR changes to this and chapter three. Like, seriously, you won't even notice them if you look, but just letting you know.  
> ANOTHER EDIT: now with a link to another one-shot, Fledgling Adventures

They make their way to Dave’s apartment, escaping the cop’s notice but not anyone else’s, what with their mostly soaked clothing and occasional peals of laughter as John shakes his head like a dog or Dave tries to initiate a tickle war in the middle of the street.

Unfortunately, the apartment’s exactly how he remembered it: messy, filled with all the random shit he keeps lying around, dark to accommodate for his eyes, and warmer than most people would keep it. He’s glad to be back though, he’s fucking shivering by now in the October weather. “Sorry, wasn’t expecting company,” he huffs as he tries to get things at least a little less messy, clearing the coffee table of trash and old cups.

“Rose and Kanaya came over for like three days straight to get all of my shit unpacked when I first moved in, and Kanaya was like ‘Dave, why do you own all of these broken swords, you cannot put that there it looks hideous, blah blah’ and Rose actually went along with it even though she is _just as messy_. And then when they left I moved things around so they actually made sense and brought out all the swords. My uncle would like leave them everywhere and he made me take home every sword I broke, so.”

After a minute, he looks up and sees John standing stiff, right by the door, not paying him a lick of attention. The door isn’t even completely closed yet, so he nudges it shut slowly, still looking at John. His entire body is completely still but his eyes are dashing everywhere, looking more than a little panicked. Far as he can tell, he’s looking at the swords stabbed into the walls (there’s also a few actually mounted but he doesn’t seem worried about those). Dave’s never seen anyone have that reaction before.

“Cool, right?” _God, why do I even open my mouth?_  “Don’t worry. I mean, they’re real,” _that’s not comforting._  “But, uh, I would catch you? If you fell, or something, so don’t worry about them.” It doesn’t seem to reassure John too terribly much, but he does relax at least a little bit, his shoulders dropping. He looks over to Dave with these stupid fucking, round, puppy eyes, still seeming scared out of his mind.

“You sure they aren’t going to fall down at all?” He’s doing that thing again with his hand, cracking his knuckles on his hip. It makes Dave want to grab his hands and; fuck if he knows.

“One hundred percent. Nothing’ll happen, bro. You wanna take a shower? I mean I think I’ll just change since I’m not as wet as you.” Still tense, John nods. He walks on the other side of the room, away from the swords, eyeing them like they’re stray dogs and he’s a walking slab of meat. Which.

_I am so, so glad no one will ever know I thought that._

Dave goes in the hallway, chuckling softly at himself as he grabs a towel from the closet. “You’re gonna have to borrow some of my clothes while yours dry, and they’re gonna fit weird, sorry.” He gets to his room next, going through his closet. He finds a baggy shirt and some old sweatpants that still look way too long. John has followed him, standing awkwardly in the doorway to his room and looking around up until the point that Dave shoves the towel and clothes into his arms. “Bathroom’s right there, have fun.”

It takes John off guard but he heads in the direction of the bathroom, muttering under his breath. He’s still dripping a little, leaving a trail of water behind him. The door closes and Dave can hear him fumble with the lock for a good ten seconds before it stops and the shower turns on.

Dave changes out of his own wet clothes then spends some more time picking up, shoving the few errant swords out of the way. He debates over his glasses-John’s seen his eyes plenty, he’d had to take them off to get the water off earlier and there were times before that, he knows. The thing is, he trusts John, and that alarms him a little bit. With the places trust had gotten him in the past, he should know better.

Dave is a strong believer that all problems can and should be ignored, however. He leaves his shades sitting on the living room coffee table and sprawls out on the couch, waiting. After a few more minutes he here’s the bathroom door click open and calls, “In here!”

John finds him taking up the entire couch and just lifts his feet so there's room to sit down. He looks pretty damn ridiculous, shirt tight across his chest and pants way too long. His mouth twitches and he sits up, getting his feet off John’s lap. “It’s worse than I thought. You can always roll those up though.” He can definitely appreciate the view of his muscles, though, hot damn.

“They won’t stay up,” he insists, but tries it anyways. It still looks pretty stupid but hey, he has feet! John laughs at it, saying, "I met someone once who always carried a little backpack around with him in the city. He always had a change of clothes in there along with his laptop and some snacks. Maybe I should start doing that too."

Hmm. "Sounds like a good idea, actually. Always prepared for anything." He’s not really sure what to do now, leaning against the arm of the couch. Then after a minute he realizes he’s actually pretty thirsty, and hops up to go to the kitchen. “Oh, shit, you want anything? We have various food items and liquids.” He bends over to look through the fridge, sliding things around. No, no, no….yes. Fuck yes. Hell fucking yes. He pulls out two beers, grinning. “What do you say to a game?”

John perks right up, eyes following the bottles in Dave’s hands. “Are you, sir, inviting an underaged party to drink with you?” He stares Dave down, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

“I keep forgetting you’re younger than me, you baby. Don’t tell your parents, okay?” Dave meets him smirk for smirk, shutting the fridge and getting a bottle opener.

“It’s still illegal, whether or not I tattle.”

“Well shit, you gonna arrest me?”

He doesn’t get an answer to that, just a wink as John stands up. “Have you got a game in mind?”

* * *

Of all the cliche drinking games out there, Dave picks Never Have I Ever. John can’t really complain; he absolutely loves that game, but he’s not very good at thinking on his feet when it comes to things like this. He’s also really bad at that clapping game, Concentration.

With a maybe-imagined sultry tone, Dave invites John into his room, claiming the bed had “more room to lay around,” on the condition John can’t spill his beer anywhere. It’s a fair enough trade, and soon they’re sprawled out on Dave’s hastily made bed. The taller boy is laid back, long limbs across most of the bed, and John is occupying as much space as he can, leaning back on an elbow. His leg is still throbbing a bit from his escape from the fountain, but he ignores it and whatever Dave is telling him about, not even really paying attention in the first place, in favor of looking around.

The room is just as dimly lit and as warm as the rest of the apartment, if not more so. Dave’s bed in the corner of the room is just a couple of mattresses piled together, and it had been messy and unmade, covers pulled somewhat straight right before they had laid down. They were still kind of lumpy under his butt. There aren’t many blank spaces on the walls, only a few patches of white peeking out from behind large posters, small photos- Polaroids, it looks like- and some drawings. From what John can see most of the pictures appear to be of people, but there’s a whole album of jars pinned up on the wall by Dave’s desk, which itself is full of photo albums, textbooks, loose pages, and his laptop. The funniest thing John notices about the place is the empty plastic bottles with half-torn Mott’s labels buried under and sitting on top of coiled wires, snaking from several standing speakers spread across the bedroom. Dave must have a thing for apple juice.

“Hey.” There’s a loud sound in his face suddenly, and as John jumps and sits back a little, he finds Dave snapping his fingers right under his nose. “Dude, you’re not even listening! I was telling you about the deep inner angst I’ve cultivated since childhood, but _noooo_ , you missed all that.”

Ah. Too bad. “Oh whatever, you nerd. Let’s just start the game and maybe you’ll repeat yourself again, yeah?” He says it like a toast, holding his beer up. Dave just rolls his eyes and drops his arm.

“Never have I ever done hard drugs.” Nope. John has seen it, heard about it, and that’s as far as he wants to go with them.

“Never have I ever had sex in a public place.” Technically, he hadn’t had sex anywhere, but that wasn’t a question.

Dave laughs but doesn’t drink. “Getting dirty, are we? Never have I ever had sex with a dude.”

Hmm. He had… Experiences, but he doesn’t know if those count. “Define sex?”

The answer he gets isn’t anything near what he had expected. “Sex, noun, an act of sexual reproduction between two viable members of a species, usually for pleasure.” John deadpans at him and just receives a grin in response. He whacks Dave on the leg for being a sassy shithead. “Hey! Dick move, bro!” John laughs when Dave retorts with a half-assed kick at his chest, pushing his foot away easily.

“In that case, no, I don’t think guys can reproduce together-”

“No, shut up, you know what I mean!” Dave talks right over him, half laughing. “The full sex, bro, dick up the ass and everything.”

John snickers and just shakes his head. “Nope. Never have I ever kissed someone on the first date.”

That gets Dave to smile a little, drinking. “I don’t see why that’s such a bad thing, it’s not like we fucked. I mean, like, it was on her doorstep.” John starts to call him cute, because _on the doorstep? Holy fuck that’s adorable_  but Dave immediately cuts him off. "Never have I ever gotten an A in a math class.”

He can feel a nerd joke coming, he can sense it with every nerve in his body. He drinks quickly, and replies, “Never have I ever sprained something.”

He almost laughs at how Dave pops up at that, sitting up on his elbows and starring John down. “I could get drunk off that sentence alone. Pretty much any injury, I’ve been there. Broke like four of my ribs at once, both arms at different times, so on and so on.” Jesus Christ, Dave must have been a reckless kid, that’s for sure. The worst injury John ever got was falling off of a playscape when he was seven, and cracked his shin open and had to get stitches. He still has the bright white lines across his skin, and he used to be really insecure about it, but not so much as he got older. “Never have I ever been out of the country.”

Again, he doesn’t drink. He’s starting to get thirsty; he can smell the beer, and although it isn’t a craft beer and is actually kind of shitty, he still wants it. “Never have I ever been arrested.”

Dave’s face is pink, John can tell even in the dim light, and he can’t hold back his smile. “[Only happened once.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2006610) No, I’m not telling you what I did, just that Mom was almost proud and then she made me clean our entire house, which was pretty fuckin’ huge, and I never did it again.” Before John can reply, Dave cuts him off again. That’s alright, he’s too busy laughing anyway. “Never have I ever tried vegetarianism.”

Okay, once, when he was like twelve, but John really doesn’t think that should count. He drinks anyways. “I couldn’t do it. I love meat too much.” He offers a smirk and leans back on his elbow. “Okay, okay. Never have I ever worn clothes to cover a hickey.” It was true, actually; every time he had gotten one he was so stupidly proud of him he kept it obvious. Most of them weren’t in open places, anyway. Dave doesn’t say anything, just drinks and avoids looking at him. John raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t question it.

“Never have I ever gotten chicken pox.”

Sadly, he drinks to that. Second grade. “Never have I ever sleepwalked.”

Dave gives him a look and John’s head is just fuzzy enough for him to giggle at it. “How the fuck would I even know?” He doesn’t drink, and John feels obligated to share his reasoning.

“I don’t know! Maybe your uncle would have told you that he found you at the stove at three am trying to make macaroni. That happened to my cousin Jade once! Yeah, I hear something banging around in the kitchen in the middle of the night, so I get up and trudge down there and what do I see but Jade, standing right in front of the stove, pouring an entire box of macaroni pasta into a pot. How she opened that bag, I have no idea, but luckily for us she couldn’t figure out how to turn the stove on! When I found her I told her to be quiet and let us sleep, she just turned around and started crying about how she couldn’t get the water to boil. Dude, did I mention there wasn’t even water in it?” John is struggling to tell his story through snorts, because he just can’t fucking believe _Jade was putting macaroni into a dry pot and crying because it wasn’t working._

Dave appears to start laughing halfway through the story, and by the end he’s actually wiping at his eyes. John is not much better himself, but he can still notice how when Dave laughs it’s almost silent but his whole body shakes with it. Weirdly charming. “Holy s-shit, no way that’s true. That _did not_  happen.”

Being careful to not spill his beer, John sits up, exclaiming, “Okay, but bro, it totally did! I saw it happen, I couldn’t believe it either!” He lowers his voice a  notch, leaning forward like he’s telling a secret. “She just sat down and sobbed, Dave, you don’t understand. She was grabbing onto my legs and everything. She was _broken_.” He’s covering his mouth now, trying to stop his wheezing. It’s really not attractive.

Dave is just trying to breathe at this point, leaning forward and laughing so hard he can’t pull in air, trying to communicate, but, well, breathing. John starts to calm down and he puts a hand on Dave’s shoulder, still trying to get his breath back. “You don’t have asthma or anything, right dude? You okay?” He just waves a hand at him, calming down a little.

“No, no, I’m okay, just, holy fucking shit,” he gets the last of his laughs out and catches his breath. Neither of them are really laughing anymore, but John has this big doofy grin on his face and a new appreciation for Dave. “Alright, the game, uuuuh. Never have I had braces.”

Yup. He drinks. “Never have I ever fired a gun.” It’s Dave’s turn to drink, then.

“All of once. Mom has this huge gun collection but Rose and I never got into hunting or anything. Never have I ever gotten _caught_  shoplifting.”

Shoplifted, yes. Caught shoplifting, no. “Guns are pretty cool, even if they scare the _shit_  out of me. Weapons really just freak me out.” He shifts around to get comfortable. He definitely is eyeing those katanas mounted on the wall by the door, though. “Never have I ever kissed someone and regretted it.”

Again, Dave is quiet as he drinks. “Never have I ever slept with someone and regretted it.” Ah, John had a feeling this was going to come up. He doesn’t drink and figures he might as well come clean. The worst Dave can do is tease him about it, right?

“Never have I ever slept with someone.” Instant regret. John ducks his head and looks away, tracing his thumb along the protruding letters in the glass. God, could he scream ‘blushing virgin’ any louder? He tells himself it’s just because Dave is obviously experienced, and he’s just embarrassed he hasn’t had the same opportunities. Which is not believable at all, even to him. Great.

Dave’s answer surprises him yet again. “What, really?! Shit man, that sucks.” He drinks, of course, and John doesn’t know if he feels better or worse with that answer. “Have you gotten your dick wet at least?” Definitely worse.

“Uh, mhm, yup. Yeah. I’ve never, never had like, full sex with anybody.” He’s really happy the room is dark, because his face is on fire.

Dave doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and John is too mortified to look up to find out why. “Never have I ever solved a Rubik’s cube.” Still fascinated with his drink, he tips it back. There’s not much left now, and he’s feeling a bit light and very warm, for the most part.

“Never have I ever thought about sex with my best friend.” It was true; although he had been enamored with Rose for the better part of a year and a half, he had never fantasized about her sexually. It just felt weird to do so, and he hadn’t ever liked her that way. Sure, she was attractive; incredibly attractive, but he just couldn’t think of her in that respect.

“Not even once? Wow, don’t I feel weird.” John laughs at him and finally looks up. “Never have I kissed someone in the rain.” John drinks to that. There was that one time in freshman year, but kids found out about it and pulled the whole ‘she’s not your soulmate’ bullshit on him. He doesn’t like to think about it.

“Never have I ever lied about enjoying somebody else’s cooking.”

Dave laughs and drinks. “Usually I’d try to be like, incredibly, rudely honest about it but then Rose would kick me under the table or whatever and I’d spit out an ‘it’s lovely.’” This gets John to snicker again. “Jesus, aren’t you out of beer yet?” Dave rearranges himself so he’s sitting up properly, probably tired of leaning up every minute or so.

“Haha, almost! I probably have one or two left. How are you doing?”

“Mm, three or four.” Buzzed enough to ignore his better judgement, John shamelessly rakes his eyes over Dave, humming shortly in appreciation. Yep, still hot. “Never have I ever been in a Victoria’s Secret.”

Another head shake. “Never have I ever been caught masturbating.” He can faintly see Dave angle his head away from John, and he knows there has to be a blush on that pretty face, especially when Dave takes a drink. He laughs. “Rough, dude!”

He gets a scowl in response. “Never have I ever played strip poker.”

John downs the last of his beer, stretching . “Never have I ever cheated on an exam.”

“Nope. You’ve played strip poker.” It’s not a question so much a statement of disbelief, perhaps an accusation.

“Yep. High school party. Granted, it was small but it was really just a gathering of my friends. Maybe five or six people.” Dave only raises his eyebrows.

“Guess that’s game over.”

“If you want to keep playing, we can do what all the sober kids do and just put fingers down for everything we’ve done.” He clears his throat and coughs briefly into the corner of his elbow. “Or, we could do something else instead. I’m honestly up for anything.”

“Mmm.” He hums and gets this contemplative look. “What time is it?”

What? John pulls his phone out, squinting at it. “Five forty-nine. Why?” He gets a shrug for his troubles as Dave downs the last of his beer.

“We could just talk. Like, gay as it sounds, it might be fun. I think I have one more beer too. Need to buy more, damn.” The last part is muttered as he stretches his arms up to the ceiling. As John watches him idly, his mind starts drifting, floating away from the response he was forming.

He can’t help but wonder how long he’s actually going to get to be around Dave. He was anything but friendly and inviting when they first met, and he seemed alright today, even coming to surprise John at work and then the wrestling in a fountain (seriously, _why_ ), but there’s still this rock of doubt at the bottom of John’s stomach. It’s doubt that Dave is as invested in this friendship as John, but the more he weighs the idea, he thinks it might be the opposite.

In all honesty, the main reason John had even followed Dave and bugged him for a dinner was because he had sang that song, because he said the words stained into his skin. He had wanted to get to know him, of course, but the more time they spend together, the most John starts to think maybe, in the long run, he’s more focused on all of the soulmate stuff than he is on Dave himself. It makes him feel kind of sick, like he’s lying to himself and Dave. It was true that the idea of their tattoos and lives matching up hadn’t crossed his mind once since he had seen Dave today, but it’s times like this when he gets lost in his thoughts that it doesn’t seem to matter how he feels when he’s actually, physically around Dave. The only thing that’s important is how he seems to be taking advantage of someone who honestly wants to be his friend, just because he’s obsessed with the romanticization of soulmates. Maybe Dave was right when he brought it up that first night. Maybe it was overrated and useless.

A shifting underneath him snaps him out of his thoughts so fast he actually feels a bit nauseous. He looks up, scared that Dave had noticed him zoning out, but he just sees him sitting there, waving his hands around, glancing at John every few seconds. Phew, crisis averted?

“...Get to her room and I’m still high off my ass, thinking okay, I’m gonna get laid tonight, and then I get my shirt off and look and this girl’s crying, all, ‘Goood, I just want somebody to love meee,’” He finally tunes back into what Dave is saying, just in time to hear that gem, complete with bad voice acting and all. John offers up a laugh, hopefully appearing like he’s been following.

“Geez, what a disappointment.” It sounds like a crazy time, one that he unfortunately missed most of. He puts his empty beer bottle on the floor beside the bed and sits up, actually looking at Dave now, focusing on him and listening, but he’s just staring at him, and he’s got this weird look on his face. Wry, maybe.

“I was waiting to see when you’d start paying attention. Welcome back to Earth, John. What’cha dreaming about up there?” Fuck, he totally noticed. With a significant stomach drop, John’s face flames up again and he buries it behind his hands, embarrassed to no end. He scoffs in mock amusement, heavy sarcasm in the tiny noise.

“Fuck. Sorry, I just started thinking.” Hopefully he wasn’t making any weird faces or shifting awkwardly, like what sometimes happens. “About nothing important. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening.”

He laughs shortly. “It’s alright, I just told that story because it was crazy. Do I get to know what distracted you?” He leans towards him, voice dropping.

The way he moves and talks reminds John vaguely of a cat, and he thinks if Dave were one, that would definitely be a purr. However, instead of cute and comforting, it just makes him extremely nervous, stuttering a bit as he replies. “U-uh, it’s not all that important, honest.” His voice definitely does not waver, not at all, don’t mention it because it doesn’t happen.

Dave smirks and definitely doesn’t let it go. “What were we talking about before? Nothing important, I think. So. What was it, John?” He gets even closer.

John doesn’t start sweating, not yet, but he’s definitely hot all over. At this point it could really be for any number of reasons. He lowers his gaze again, like a dog who got caught misbehaving. “Dave, really, it’s nothing,” he mutters, subconsciously leaning away. He dares himself to put a hand up, resting it very lightly on Dave’s shoulder, and glancing up quickly. “Just- thinkin’ stupid stuff, okay? It’s not important.” He gives him a shaky smile, holding his breath. There’s no fucking way he can tell him what he was really thinking about, not after Dave had already shared his blatant opinion on it.

Dave rolls his eyes and sighs, seemingly giving up. “I’ll get it out of you eventually, you know.” John exhales and flops back down onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead. That was nerve wracking as all hell.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

* * *

Dave’s feeling pretty good right about now. He’s warm, full of shitty beer and laughter, and maybe a little sleepy. He keeps finding himself looking at John, his hair, his eyes, the way he’s laid out on his bed-and fuck if that last one isn’t a little distracting. It’s kind of like a dream. He tries pretending that John is there for another reason all of once and the consequences are so disastrous he spends the rest of his time forcing himself to focus on the present.

“Anything to bring up? Dark secrets to divulge maybe, come on, how about a touching childhood tale?” He sounds so fucking pretentious when he says it, Dave makes himself laugh. He wouldn’t mind just hearing John talk. And he gets to, although it’s still quiet.

“Nope, no secrets. No childhood stories. I’ve got nothing.” Shame. He makes a groaning noise, flopping back on the bed-he’d retreated from occupying John’s space a few minutes ago.

“Seriously, nothing? Pick something at random. Have you been to a college party yet?”

“Not yet,” comes the muffled reply. Dave glances over and sees that John has now covered his mouth with his other arm.

“Dude, are you still freaking out over that? Alright, I’m sorry I pushed for an answer, I really don’t care that much.” He nudges him with his foot since they’re facing opposite directions.

Out comes a sigh, or at least that's what he thinks it is, and John surrenders the choke hold he has his own face in to drop his arms to the bed. "No, I'm sorry. I'm being stupid. I'll tell you one day, maybe."

That’s reassuring. Probably the best he’s going to get, though. “Hey, don’t worry about it, yeah?” He sits up just so he can lean forward and ruffle his hair. “You ain’t gotta do shit, just relax.” He thinks maybe he should, fuck, he doesn’t even know. Tell him he can leave? He would already know that and no matter how he would say it, it would come out wrong, so no.

John hums at the touch, rolling onto his side to look at him. "Stop it, you can't be nice and hot at the same time, that's not fair."

Dave laughs yet again. “Oh, so I’m hot am I?” Fuck, why does that make his stomach feel warmer.

With a completely blank face John just props himself up on one elbow and stares him down. Eventually he tears his gaze away from Dave's eyes and trails it very slowly down his body, staying longer in some spots than in others, and flicks his eyes back up to Dave's. "Mm."

Dave can’t stop himself from shivering. _Hot damn_. There goes all his sarcastic comebacks, along with the rest of his brain function. He literally cannot speak for a moment and then it’s too late and his face is pretty hot, and shiiiit.

“R-right.” It takes him a minute, but he can totally do this. “Weren’t you supposed to be telling me a story?” And just like that, the little fucker drops back down to the bed, all curled up and cute and ugh, fuck him.

John raises his eyebrow at him, giving him a Look of some sort, and scoffs. "I never said I'd do that." What? Rude.

“Yeah, come on!” He’s whining, just a tad bit. Oops. Blame it on the accent. “Don’t be a dick, I mean, I know it’s hard but take some of that massive schlong out of your personality and shove it back where it belongs.” Oh god, he can barely keep a straight face as he says it.

John certainly doesn't, breaking out into giggles that he turns and muffles into the sheets. He seems to feel much better now than he did five minutes ago. Maybe he's a moody drunk. A moody lightweight. God, that’s a disaster waiting to happen. "And where exactly am I shoving this massive schlong of mine, Strider?"

“Do I have to play fucking connect the dots for you? Where do you think?” He scoffs.

John hums and raises an eyebrow again. "I can think of a couple places." Oh god, he should not be thinking about this. The fire in his face only fans hotter as he tries desperately to imagine something else, _dead cats, alcohol poisoning, Rose naked-yep, that’ll do_.

“The point here,” he redirects, “is you’re supposed to be talking, but since you are oh-so stubborn you get to hear me talk instead.” Shit, now he has to think of a story. He hums, and-yup, that’ll be great. “So when Rose and I were, maybe fourteen? We both came out to mom. Only we didn’t do anything normal, no, we made a competition to see who could make the biggest show out of it, winner does the other’s chores for a month.” He leans back, smirking triumphantly having shared that little jewel. There’s no way he’s not curious.

Fuck yeah, it definitely gets John's attention. He sits up, giving him an interested look. "How did that go? Who won?"

“Me, of course. I wrote an original song, stood up in the middle of family dinner while my mom’s friends were over and started playing the violin and singing about how gay I was.” It’s always either his favorite story to tell or one of the most embarrassing memories of the Lalonde household. John's laughing again before he's even done.

"Do you remember it? I want to know how gay you are, too." He laughs too, shaking his head.

“I’m sure mom’s got it written down somewhere. About two weeks later I gave up the ‘gay’ thing, though. Like I was always pretty open, but before that a chick in school kicked me in the nuts for 'stealing her pen'," he makes air quotes here, "And I swore off girls forever. And then this new chick moved in and goddamn was she hot, so, bi. Or, really, I just don’t care.”

John's up on his elbow again, actually focused entirely on him. At least he has his attention now. "Yeah, I guess I can say the same. Obviously not with the whole back story, but the sexuality part. On the average day I prefer girls more, but damn if there aren't some nice-looking guys around."

Dave cannot resist. “Like me?” He wiggles his eyebrows obnoxiously. John laughs and shoves him with his foot.

"Yes, we've been over this before!"

What? He’s pretty sure he would remember that, and he starts saying, “When-” and then it clicks and his brain and oh, right. John was almost one-upping him tonight as far as salacious comments go. Dave needs to get back in the game.

Now John has angled his body a little more towards Dave, although they are still facing each other. "I'm almost offended," he says playfully, bumping his foot against Dave's leg again. It stays there this time. "I don't look at just _anybody_  like that, you know, I keep that look for special occasions." Dave only rolls his eyes though-that was pretty weak.

“I bet you say that to all the ladies that push you into a fountain and then bring you to their apartment,” his tone is just as ~~flirty~~  playful.

“Damn, you’ve got me figured out,” John pouts back at him. “How am I ever supposed to seduce you now, when you know my secrets? Congratulations, Dave, you’ve ruined the whole plan. I’m going to go home, sulk over your borrowed clothes, and fantasize about what we could have been.”

God, he _loves_  flirting. It should be his major, he’d graduate early with honors. “I’m pretty sure you could succeed by good looks alone, no need to worry.” _I’m not letting go just yet, anyways_  is what he doesn’t say.

John sits up to get eye-level (somewhat) with him, crossing his legs. His hands drop to fold neatly in his lap. “Don’t talk to me like I’m your mirror, dude, I’m just John.” What?

“Are you implying I’m vain?” His tone comes out highly offended- probably because he is. John’s immediately shaking his head, laughing.

“No, no. I’m throwing your own compliment back at you, not insulting you.”

“ _Sure_.” All John does to that is give him a look over the tops of his glasses. Hmph. He sits up, moving around a little and rubbing at his face. “ _Now_  do I get to hear a story?”

John’s face gets contemplative. He’s chewing on his lip and playing with the bed sheets, obviously thinking, and it’s absolutely not adorable. No way. “Want to hear about the time I got hit by a car?” What the hell kind of story is that?

“What the hell? No!” He laughs, leaning forward to shove him playfully and John pushes right back.

“Are you sure? It was in eleventh grade, and it was my history teacher from the year before.”

He rolls his eyes like it’s such an inconvenience. “Yeah, okay, as long as it’s a good story!”

John hums. “Never mind. I don’t have any good stories, nothing cool has happened to me my whole life.” He grins at him, all wide and toothy and proud.

“Oh, I’m sure. Nerdiness like that can only come from such a tragic back story,” he presses a hand to John’s chest, in the approximate region of his heart-who knows, Dave’s not the scientist here. “If you ever need to talk about it, I’m here for you, man.”

John places his hand over Dave’s, sliding it across his chest to where his heart actually is. “Where are you? Here, in my heart? That’s gay.”

“Figuratively. Metaphorically. Theoretically. Physically, that sounds pretty dangerous.”

“Absolutely. That would kill both of us.” One of his fingers just barely twitches against Dave’s hand, but he feels it like a thrum through his whole body. “However, if my chest starts glowing like I’m E.T. or some shit, you and I will need to have a talk.”

It gets him to snicker. “I didn’t do anything!” His hand’s still sitting on John’s chest. He should probably move that. He clears his throat when he does, bringing his hand up to rub at his mouth like he couldn’t just use his other, free one.

“Anyways, no, I don’t believe that. Stop avoiding the topic when I’m trying to learn more about you, shithead!”

For some unknown reason, the gods decide to bless him with the gift of John scooting just a little closer to him. “I don’t have any!” He complains again, sticking his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Don’t believe you. Tell me about the one teacher you had a sex dream about, or the time you almost failed a class, or the time your friend got arrested. Tell me about your parents, your siblings, I don’t even know if you have siblings!”

John nods and puts up a finger for every suggestion. “Okay, okay, deal. In ninth grade, my algebra teacher was super hot. She had a really nice face and then this awesome body. Like, I’m pretty good at math, so I didn’t pay attention to what she was teaching, just what she was doing. Long legs, wide hips in her curves, great boobs. It was amazing. Best math class I’ve ever had. I almost failed speech class in sophomore year because it was a total blow-off class and I rarely actually showed up. When exemptions rolled around during finals, I asked if I had too many absences to be exempt from the exam, and my teacher just told me I only had one. Just one! I could have skipped every single day and it wouldn’t have mattered. I got out of it fine but I never, ever turned in work or performed a speech. It was so bad. I passed the semester with a seventy-one. I don’t know anybody who has gotten arrested, except you, which I still want to hear about. Also, I have an older sister named Jane, my cousin Jade and a roommate, Jake, who could be my identical twin.” With every story he tells he puts a finger down until he’s left with his fist, and he drops his hand back to the bed, grinning proudly. “Is that enough to satisfy you?”

In actuality, it’s not much. Interesting, but it’s not real information. To Dave, though, it’s more than enough-another insight to the actual person he’s looking at, rather than the lines of some folder on what exactly a person is. This person is. “Yeah, for now.”

* * *

The evening is going by quite quickly, much faster than John wishes, than he even realizes. His day, originally seeming to be another day of sadly going through his daily class and work rituals and briefly texting Dave whenever he had a chance, had really dragged until Dave surprised him at work. Ever since then his emotions had been a crazy roller coaster, easily swinging between enjoyment, nervousness, terror, and at some points, all of the above, at once. Since after their impromptu drinking game on Dave’s cushy mattress in the corner of his messy-yet-charming bedroom, John has only felt warm, cozy, and extremely flirty. Like really, he is usually not this bad. He doesn’t think there has ever been a time when he was this suggestive, and serious about it, with anybody.

Not like he had really had the chance to be, anyways.

A pearl of laughter from Dave due to a short anecdote he had shared- that one time he was helping his friend move in after they graduated, and he accidentally threw a priceless family heirloom (just a lamp. An ugly lamp, by the way) through the window of the new place, on the third floor of the apartment building- catches his attention, pulling him away from his unexpected recap of the afternoon. He smiles unconsciously. He really loves that sound. It’s really cute and John’s starting to come to the conclusion that everything Dave does is pretty damn cute, even if he has half-broken swords stuck through his walls and giant and unnecessary speakers in his room trailing out to a stereo system in the lounge. It’s weird, but for some reason John can’t get the adjective “cute” out of his mind.

He decides to share another story about his friend. He isn’t really sure why this one comes to mind, but the beginning of it makes him laugh, so he’s hoping maybe it will do the same for Dave.

“So this guy, he had been my best friend since like, I don’t know, third grade? Maybe sooner than that. Remember how earlier I asked you to clarify what you meant about sex with a dude? Yeah, that was with him. Anyway, obviously we were super close, incredibly nerdy together. We ran the school’s computer club, geez! One day after school, in eighth grade, he pulls me aside. Drags me into a band practice room, of all places. There’s a kid in one of the rooms to our right, just putting all of his life’s energy into belting out this terrible, terrible rendition of the school’s fight song on tuba. I can hear it even with all of the soundproof padding all over the place, and I’m so surprised at getting yanked into there it takes me a moment to register what Josh is telling me. It also doesn’t help that he’s all stuttery.”

John is motioning along with his story a little, flapping his hands about, but it’s nothing compared to how Dave talks. As he says his next part, he uses a poor imitation of a prepubescent boy. “‘U-uh, John, I need to talk to you,’ he’s so nervous I can’t even understand him. Basically, he asks me out, but he doesn’t mean romantically. Oh, no, he wants to get down and do the dirty! At first I tell him it’s gross, I don’t want to do that, but I could see how scared he was about the whole deal. Honestly, I think it was just because he wanted to know what he was doing when he met his soulmate. Which is weird, because I think he has met them now- I don’t really talk to him much anymore, since college started- but as far as I know it’s a chick. I don’t know how that whole thing with me helps him now, but it’s not my business. Anyway, we spend all of high school fucking around, in the literal sense and in the releasing-a-cooler-full-of-bouncy-balls-into-the-crowded-hallways sense. He did help _me_  a lot in ‘figuring out who I was’ or whatever. Thanks to him I can appreciate hot guys like you, and my roommate, and uh, others. He never once kissed me, though. I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about that.”

The last part is more of an afterthought, muttered under his breath. However he is satisfied with himself, so he leans back on his arms again, resting on his palms this time. At this point he’s not sure that was such a good tale to tell, but Dave _did_  want to know more about him, and shit if that wasn’t something significant about his own personal story.

This whole time Dave’s giving him rapt attention, nodding along and laughing once or twice. “How romantic. Remind me to send flowers to this guy.”

John himself laughs at that, shaking his head. “Oh man, no way. That would be so weird. That would be like your boyfriend sending flowers to an ex boyfriend of yours, and then there would be tensions all around and jealousy everywhere and it would just get nasty for everybody involved.” It takes him all of three seconds to realize he slipped up and said the b-word, but he just bumbles past it in an attempt to play it off. Shit, Dave’s staring at him. “You know, like, in all those movies where the wife finds out about an ex-girlfriend showing up in her new husband’s life again or whatever, and she goes batshit but then gets really calm-seeming and tries to befriend her and stuff to corner her later and snap at her to back off her man...” He trails off quietly, worried now that he’s scared Dave off. He holds Dave’s gaze for a few more seconds before glancing down to the bed sheets again. _Fuck, Jesus Christ, just shut up John! Just shut up, shut up, Dave’s making an even weirder face at you now just stop just stop while you’re ahead._

When Dave finally does open his mouth, he gets, “That is the single worst analogy I’ve ever heard. Ever. Why do I remind you of a crazy housewife?”

Fuck, he really messed that up, didn’t he? “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Sure it ain’t.” He’s smirking, now. “So does that mean I’m the boyfriend? Cuz honestly I prefer that over the psycho chick.”

John has to play his cards very carefully here, or so he thinks so. He starts biting his lip again- nervous habit- while he looks back up and takes a moment before replying. “Yeah, in that scenario, you would be.”

“In that scenario?” Everything he says sounds a little cynical but also like he’s about to laugh, specifically laugh at John. Honestly, he’s not terribly sure how to feel about that, either, so he just nods slowly in response. He’s getting that feeling in his gut again; the excited yet restless feeling that comes when he flirts, especially with Dave, when he’s walking a thin line between acceptable and completely uncalled for.

Dave rolls his eyes at him after another few moments, giving up. “You ramble worse than I do. You should get a medal for that-I’m going to get you a medal for that, big, garish thing that says ‘talks more than Dave Strider’ and if you wear it to most restaurants in the US and Canada, it’ll get you free pancakes.”

That would be horrifying. John would loathe to have to do that. Besides, he doesn’t talk that much, does he? He really doesn’t think so. (At the same time he kind of likes the idea of wearing Dave’s name on him, even with something as stupid as this said medal.) “Oh, shut up. I just get nervous sometimes and I can’t stop talking until I get actually anxious, and then it’s like I can’t do anything at all.”

He’s nodding at him again. “I get that. You know I tend to talk too much,” and he laughs again but it’s more self-deprecating this time.

“Hey,” John smiles, kinda crooked and toothy again. He reaches forward and pats Dave’s hand. “That’s not a bad thing. You have a nice voice, even when you’re just talking. Especially when you’re singing, though.” He gets a smile for his troubles.

“Aww, thank ya, I’m glad to hear it. I don’t actually sing that much though.”

Now the flutter in John’s tummy is more excitement and curiosity than anything else. If he never sings, maybe there _was_ something special about that day they met, and John's stupid gut feeling about all of this soulmate business was right. Or at least had some truth to it. “Why did you that one day, then?”

Dave shrugs. “Didn’t think about it, I just really like that song. It felt right, I guess,” he’s got this contemplative look in his eyes again. His face is actually a lot more open and expressive without the glasses. John hums and nods back. _It felt right._

“I dunno, I just kind of thought it was funny. Like, ironic kind of funny.” He doesn’t really want to hint at the thing with his tattoo, but he definitely wants to hint at the thing with his tattoo. “That song is super important to me. I can’t even describe how, you know? So you could say I was pretty shocked and excited when you started playing it.” Once again he’s turned away, but it’s not because he’s intimidated this time, just needlessly apprehensive for Dave’s response.

“What, like, old memories important, or-?” Dave’s brow is furrowed and he looks vaguely annoyed, or maybe something else but that’s the closest John can call it for now, and he quickly interrupts him.

“No! No, no way. A different kind of important. I don’t know.” He doesn’t know how to explain himself now without outright saying anything about his quote.

The look leaves his face, but he’s still staring at him and something about it just screams ‘drop the bullshit.’ “Really.” It sounds pretty skeptical.

John purses his lips and nods, feeling a little like he’s in trouble. “Really.” He doesn’t have much else to say, so he just rubs at his collarbone through his shirt- Dave’s shirt- and sighs.

Dave looks at his phone and echoes him. “Looks like your deadline’s ‘bout here. Come on, your clothes should be dry,” and he rolls off the bed, grabbing his empty bottle and leaves the room just like that. John leans down to grab his own and follows him, dawdling a bit, taking his time looking around. He doesn’t really want to leave, but he has class to go to, and dry clothes to grab.

Dave leads him to the laundry room and he waits outside the door, thanking Dave when he gets his clothes back. They’re nice and warm so he throws appearances to the wind and rests his cheek against his shirt, sighing softly. It really soft and comfy, and it smells nice, too. Kind of how Dave’s shirt that he’s currently wearing smells, not that he had noticed.

“Alright, I’ll just duck off to the bathroom and change real quick. Thank you for letting me come over, and for drying my clothes after you so graciously pulled me into a park fountain.” His tone is back to teasing as he heads off to the bathroom.

Dave calls after him, “You’re welcome!” He thinks he says something else but it’s too soft to understand. If it was important, he probably would have spoken up, so John just brushes it off as he changes in the bathroom. For an amount of time longer than he’s willing to admit, he considers bunching Dave’s shirt up into his pocket, but it doesn’t even fit him right anyway, and he would undoubtedly notice it’s missing.

John does spend quite a few minutes in the bathroom, probably long enough for Dave to get suspicious, but he really is spending most of that time staring in the mirror. Specifically, his tattoo.

The words are stark even against his darker skin, standing out clear as day. _Do you know what's worth fighting for?_  It doesn't help that they're scrawled right across his collarbone, the sharp angles of the messy handwriting accentuated by the bone beneath. John puts a hand up to run a finger over it- it doesn't feel any different, of course. Just like skin. It does feel warm to the touch, however, and he briefly wonders why that is. The letters on his skin aren't anything nice, really. They kind of look like chicken scratch. Messy, straight lines, intersecting only at angles, little to no rounded edges at all. What kind of person has handwriting like this? What about this suggests personality traits in his soulmate compatible to his own? For a moment John considers applying the handwriting to Dave, barely scratching the surface of that late-night train of thought, before he realizes he needs to get out of this bathroom. He pulls his shirt over his head and tries to fluff up his hair, ignoring the dead weight in his stomach.

He puts on a smile and comes out with the folded clothes stacked together, passing them off to Dave. “Thank you again, it means a lot that you even bothered to come by my work and hang out with me today.”

Dave smiles and it makes him feel fucking adorable. “No problem, man, I had fun doing it.”

He starts walking towards the door, cracking it open. “So, uh, see you later? Call me sometime.” He says it over his shoulder with a grin. Dave gives him this lazy salute.

“Will do. Don’t get mugged, aight?”

“I’ll do my best.” John winks at him playfully and leaves Dave’s apartment. He thinks he’s going to have a hard time focusing on his class tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay’s notes: i have a shitty music taste bc it encompasses so many genres and types of music so i can get behind a lot of things renee throws my way. as always many thanks to my beautiful moirail loren for beta reading for us, and for discussing and suggesting so many awesome ideas. thanks to renee also, for being incredible and writing all of dave’s stupidly awesome parts. chapter four has been my favorite to write so far. like i’ve literally been gushing about it to anyone who will listen; it is my FAVORITE CHAPTER. there’s so much flirting and just a dash of sexual tension and aaaahHHHHH I LOVE IT SO MCUH WTF i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as i did! and of course an ever-present thank you to you, the reader, for stickin’ around this long :)


	5. Come With Me Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee's notes: so this is my favorite chapter so far!!! Meanwhile we're actually writing chapter eight but none of this is getting beta read hence why it's not posted v.v As far as chapter counts we fleshed everything put and it's looking like this will be twelve chapters (complete with sexilogue) and I'm p sure my favorite chapter altogether will be chapter eleven, in which EVERYTHING happens (but I won't spoil anything ; ))  
> Also, fun fact, we have three different versions of this chapter: the original rp, in which that last scene never even happens, the imagined version of the chapter, in which it never happens, and the actual version, wherein, well.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--   
TT: John, would you perchance be busy at the present moment?   
EB: not with anything particularly engaging, no.   
EB: what’s up?   
TT: Kanaya and I are out in Coney Island and there’s something that needs to be attended to, only I can’t from way out here.   
EB: lucky! i’m still stuck here with college. we’re preparing to prepare for finals.   
EB: something like that. i haven’t really been paying attention.   
EB: also work sucks ass.   
TT: I’m sorry to hear that.    
EB: anyway, what’s the problem?   
TT: My brother, to be blunt.   
TT: He tends to do stupid things. A lot of stupid things. Including but not limited to: hiding out in his apartment, not eating, not talking to anyone, and sulking.   
EB: that explains why he hasn’t been answering me.   
EB: is dave alright?   
TT: Most likely, yes. He just needs someone to knock some sense into him. Perhaps literally.   
TT: Which brings me to my request; are you up for being said knocker?   
EB: are you asking me to beat up your brother?!   
EB: no way, rose! he’s my friend too, i’m not going to attack him. no deal.   
TT: Only as a last resort!   
TT: I’m asking if you’ll keep him company.   
EB: oh.   
EB: hmm. i’d like to, but if he’s feeling down, i don’t know.   
EB: we aren’t THAT close yet, you know?   
EB: i’d love to, but i feel like it might be intruding a bit.   
TT: Trust me, there’s no need to worry about that. He won’t care.   
EB: well, if you’re sure, then i guess i’ll stay with him.   
TT: Grand!   
TT: Thank you, John.   
EB: anytime!   
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--   
EB: hey, dave! are you busy right now?   
TG: busy doing nothing   
EB: yeah, same here.   
EB: busy not doing the things i’m supposed to be doing.   
EB: how are you doing?   
TG: not great to be honest   
TG: how are you   
EB: still kind of worried from a talk i just had with a friend.   
EB: work was also really shitty too.   
TG: sucks sounds like a bad day   
TG: guess that makes both of us   
TG: i dont know if i want to be your tool of procrastination though   
EB: pft, like it would be any different.   
TG: right   
TG: so what can i help you with   
EB: i was just wondering if you were doing ok.   
EB: i dunno, maybe you needed some company.   
TG: nah   
EB: are you sure? i got off work already and i have nothing to do for the rest of the day.   
TG: was it rose   
EB: hmm?   
EB: what?   
TG: it was rose wasnt it   
EB: i’m offended! i know my courses, but like i said before, i can’t actually talk to plants.   
TG: my sister you doofus   
TG: she put you up to this didnt she   
TG: whatever she said she lied   
TG: im fine   
EB: whaaaat, you have a sister?   
TG: john weve been over this    
EB: okay, yeah. she might have mentioned something about you.   
EB: but i’m not just doing it because she asked me to!   
EB: even if you’re “fine” or not, she just suggested i could maybe keep you company.   
EB: so now i am only offering that to you.   
TG: do you have any beer   
EB: um, no?   
EB: i’m underage dave, you know that.   
TG: yeah i know just hoping  
TG: you know the really gross subway   
TG: the sandwich shop i mean   
TG: on henson avenue   
EB: i know the one.   
TG: like two blocks down   
TG: on the left   
TG: theres an apartment building   
TG: with a flamingo on the roof   
EB: why is there a flamingo on the roof?   
TG: irony   
TG: im apartment 6B   
TG: ill even put on pants just for you   
EB: wow! i'm so flattered. thank you for adorning your legs with garments, just for me.   
TG: as you should be   
TG: i dont put on pants for just anyone john   
TG: although i guess it should be the opposite   
TG: i can of course forego the pants if thats a more appealing offer   
EB: usually i'd say you need to take me out to dinner first, but it seems we've already done that.   
TG: so is that a yes or no to the pants   
EB: you know what, surprise me.   
TG: oooh   
EB: ;) hahaha.   
TG: did you just wink at me john   
EB: no, dave, that was an emoticon.   
TG: an emoticon of a wink   
EB: still not an actual wink, though.   
EB: so it doesn’t count.   
TG: youre insufferable   
TG: when should i be expecting you   
TG: gotta know how long i have to chase all these pigeons out of my apartment   
EB: hahaha.   
EB: well, i have to walk, so it'll be a bit.   
EB: maybe half an hour.   
TG: great   
EB: wait, there are pigeons in your apartment???   
TG: they keep me company when im down okay   
TG: i wish they were crows but unfortunately this is new york   
EB: introduce me to them. they sound important.   
TG: why   
EB: i'm teasing, dave.   
TG: im not   
TG: ;)   
EB: hey!   
TG: ;)   
EB: stop that, you.   
TG: cant stop wont stop ;)   
EB: dave! cut that out, you're being a dork.   
TG: i take offense to that   
TG: now fuck off so i can shower   
EB: ;)   
TG: ;)   
EB: hahaha! i should be there in like twenty or thirty minutes.   
EB: have fun ;)   
TG: i will   
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

Having a cute guy come over is the perfect motivation to get up and shower. Dave's still not sure if he actually wants to put on pants. He waits until he's out of the shower and then he's got his shirt on and his boxers but pants? Should he? Because it could be totally ironic (not to mention it sounds like the start of a gay porno) but it could also be very, very awkward…

To procrastinate, he spends a while working on his hair and staring at his stupid eyes and checking to make sure that the dark lines of his tattoo aren’t showing through the worn fabric of his shirt, and then he gets back into the melancholy mood of earlier thinking about stupid fucking soulmates and his first girlfriend which he doesn't want to think about at all, and then he forgets about the issue entirely. He puts his sunglasses on even though he knows he doesn’t have to and just gets out of the bathroom-he doesn’t want to look at himself anymore.

Then he hears someone knocking on his door and realizes he’s spent all of his time in the bathroom. It brings him back to Rose always teasing him because _you take longer to style your hair than I do getting ready altogether._ It makes him smile a little to himself as he swings the door open for John. “Sup?”

John looks cheery as always until his gaze slips downwards and his mouth opens just a hair. He looks stupid. He also looks really kissable. "Oh my god, you aren't wearing pants." He looks down and-oh. So he isn't. He has to make the quick decision on if he wants to be known as someone who forgets to put on pants, or someone who actually just doesn't wear pants because of a dare, and that's no choice at all. Sorry, honesty.

"Yeah, ain't it surprising?" His lips twitch a little as he pulls him inside, shutting the door. "Sorry, didn't really have time to clean up, what with all the pigeons." Well, more like he just didn’t care enough to try. It’s not that bad.

John’s trailing behind him, not on his heels but close enough. “That’s fine. It didn’t bother me last time, and my dorm looks horrible, so I’m used to a little clutter.” He bends down quickly to pick up a stray feather, twirling it around between his fingers. Shit, he’d thought he’d got them all. “So, pigeons and crows. Are you like a bird whisperer?”

“Yep.” His apartment, contrary to popular belief, had not just been filled with birds. There had been one bird, a couple of hours ago, before he had to chase it out because it kept trying to eat his books. Some days he liked to open all the windows and let them come inside. “Do you care if we just watch a movie?”

For some reason John pockets the feather and shakes his head. "Nah, that sounds awesome. What are you in the mood for?" Oh, so many answers. None of them he should be saying.

“Mm, ever heard of Bo Burnham?” He gets over to his shelves of movies and starts looking for it, one of his favorite DVDs.

When he turns back around, holding it, John is settled on the corner of the couch, watching him. "Yeah. I've seen a couple videos on YouTube but I've never ventured farther than that." Dave smiles a little.

“Well, I’m glad I get to introduce you then.” He starts setting it up, popping the DVD in and turning the TV on.

"He is a comedian, right?" Dave nods. "Cool. Speaking of comedians, do you want to hear a joke?" With a sigh, Dave nods, and then John's laughing already. What a dweeb.

"What do you call a comedian who is a really great guy?"

He rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. He has no expectations for this punchline.

John's trying really hard not to laugh now, taking a pause before delivering. "A stand-up stand-up."

He laughs before he can stop himself. "You're terrible."

"I know," is John's only answer. He's shifting around to get comfortable now, claiming a pillow, resting it on his knees.

"You want anything to drink or something?”

"Do you have any pop?" Did he really-? God that’s precious.

“Can’t say I do. I have coke, though.” He raises his eyebrows at him, smirking.

John makes a face right back, brow furrowing, nose crinkling. "I prefer Pepsi, but thank you anyway." He chuckles, sitting down on the couch.

“I’ve got Mountain Dew, too.” After a minute he pulls his knees up to his chest, getting comfortable like that. John lightly tosses his pillow at his side as he stands.

"I guess it's in the fridge. Want me to grab you anything?"

“Dude, the point of me asking was so I could go get it. Let me do the proper host shtick.” John flops back into the couch, reaching again for the pillow. "Fine, go for it."

Dave does not release the pillow. “Mine now, dweeb.” He sets it on the floor on his side of the couch, out of John’s reach. John just sinks into the back of the couch, raising an eyebrow at Dave.

"I'm not a dweeb, you're a dweeb. Grab me a Mountain Dew, dweeb." Hmph. He moves quickly to the kitchen, just a little self conscious-he can’t forget the fact that he’s not wearing pants, can’t believe he actually _forgot_. When he comes back with a can of cold soda, he presses it to the back of John’s neck and snickers. And, of course, John squeals like a scared animal, flinching forward. He almost falls off the couch, cursing under his breath.

Dave can’t stop laughing. “Oh my god, that was priceless.” John rolls onto his back, spread across the couch, and raises a hand to flip Dave off.

"You fucking suck, that's not cool."

“Nah, bro, it’s pretty cold.” He holds it close to him again, threatening. He can already feel his mood improving. John points his middle finger at him, shaking his head.

"One, that pun sucked. Two, don't you dare."

"You suck. Now just take the fucking drink and I won't have to."

Taking the bottle, he maybe winks again (it's so fast, Dave can't really tell) and moves over to give him room to sit. Dave ignores him-he already has his space on the other end of the couch. The show’s just starting up now, and listening to Bo being an idiot is nice. He gets pretty engrossed in the movie actually, just looking at John every now and then to see how he reacts to his favorite parts, if he catches the subtler jokes. More often than not, John’s not even looking at the screen-he’s looking at Dave, and every time he catches him Dave looks away as fast as he can and feels his face get hot. He has no idea why John’s staring at him but after a while it’s a little too much.

“Are you hungry? Geez, I don’t think I ate breakfast today.” He gets up fast, setting the pillow in his lap onto the couch and shuffling to the kitchen to look through the fridge.

He can barely see it but John turns his head really fast too. "Really, dude? It's like five pm, but yeah, I could go for a snack."

He moves some things around, wonders briefly if John’s looking at his ass before he has to kill that thought dead. "You should probably pick what we eat-I don't think you'd agree with the kind of shit I eat. Like, it's practically a deal breaker to most people. Sorry Dave, love you and all, but you're disgusting and I can't stand it anymore, see you never."

He thinks he hears John move closer to him. His voice is definitely closer. "It can't be that bad. You make it sound like you live off of a diet of grapes and cheese balls drizzled in chocolate pudding."

He just barely manages to keep a straight face, standing upright so he can see him. “Well…”

John's face falls. He stops moving. “No.”

Dave cracks up laughing.

He can’t fucking handle it. He laughs loudly, uncontrollably, his shoulders shaking and he can’t breathe and he probably sounds really stupid but it’s just that fucking great. Every time he calms down a little he thinks about John deadpanning again and laughs some more. John chuckles a little too, eventually getting more into it. “Stop laughing,” he wheezes, and Dave just tries to breathe.

“I can’t, I can’t oh my god John,” he doesn’t even want to. John chides him, giggling some more and steps forward, lightly hitting him in the chest with both hands. He’s like an agitated kitten. Fuck if Dave understands his own thoughts, he’s oxygen starved.

Dave rests his hands over John’s and tries to calm down. It reminds him of the last time John was in his apartment, over a week ago. The distraction helps and he sucks in deep breaths, still smiling a little, only now he’s worried it’s more love struck than amused. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay,” he’s not laughing anymore, at least.

John just leaves his hands on his chest like he has no idea how it affects him, like he can’t feel his heart starting to pick up. No, he’s just grinning. "Sorry? You don't look very sorry. In fact, you look pretty dang smug to me!" Well, he’s not going to pull away.

“Can’t help it, shit was hilarious,” he smiles a little more but he’s afraid if he thinks about it he’ll start laughing again. His chest feels weird from laughing and now this?

John just has this small amused smile on his face now. He taps his index fingers against Dave's chest once. "I'm gonna say something," he starts. Instantly, he can feel himself perking up a little, though his thoughts turn sarcastic- _that’s like asking me if you can ask a question oh god what is he gonna say wha-_ "You're kinda cute."

His brain shorts out a little. He can feel his face heating up like it’s on fire, and that is definitely not what he was expecting. “W-what?”

That little smirk bumps up to a grin as soon as he speaks. "I said you're cute! Like when you laugh, I mean. I dunno, it's nice to see." John's face is pink now too, and he's kind of ducking his head a bit, looking up at Dave. And that, that is cute. Dave feels like he’s gonna throw up, his heart’s beating so hard and his stomach is hot. He doesn’t even have anything to say; he kind of wants to kiss him, but he’s too busy being shocked and probably looking like an idiot, jaw on the floor.

"Hey. Psst. You alright, Dave?" _What? No I’m not alright I don’t know how to deal with this at all!_

He manages to stutter out a kind of, “I’m n-not cute.” John just gives him a funny look and shakes his head.

"Yeah, you are. You're adorable." He’s tightened his hands without realizing it, and he only notices now because he’s desperately trying to get his brain back on track.

“Whatever,” he laughs, blows it off. “I’m manly as hell is what I am.” His voice doesn’t sound weird, no way.

He can feel John’s fingers curling under his as he sighs. "You can still be manly and adorable, you know." He still sounds so honestly affectionate and Dave thinks his heart is trying to manually bust out of his chest like his ribs are the prison bars of Shaw shank, and thank god he’s thinking at least a little normally again.

“Whatever. Weren’t you- you were supposed to be telling me what you want to eat.” He lets his hands drop and he steps back so John’s hands are off him, glad his shades are on because who knows what John would find in his eyes.

* * *

 Class this morning had been pack full of information and discouraging, to say the least. With finals coming up in less than a month, all of his professors were trying to cram in the last of the course for the first semester, assigning frequent quizzes over the topics and scheduling tests every week. Needless to say, it had been stressing John out, and he felt like he deserved a break.

Work that afternoon had been no better; his shift ran straight through lunch hour, and for some reason, it was much busier than usual. John had been almost constantly on his feet, moving between tables and the kitchen and dealing with rude, hungry, impatient customers. Oh, and not to mention, he even had the _nerve_ to forget some poor soul’s dipping sauce, which earned him a shitty tip and several minutes of harsh berating. It took all of his willpower not to punch that man square in the face, burst out crying, or both. So when Rose had messaged when he was in his dorm, studying and trying to recover from his afternoon, it had been a huge relief.

The request to help cheer Dave up was even better. After the few impromptu little “dates” (if he even dared to call them that- he didn’t know where they stood, but his attraction _felt_ mutual,) John was starting to realize there was a lot he would give up in order to spend more time with Dave. Mostly it was his time and attention; most of his brainpower over the past few weeks had gone to Dave in some way or another. Replaying interactions in his head, reading their messages over and over before he fell asleep, doodling things in the margins of his notes. Most of those drawings were really rough sketches of things John remembered about Dave’s apartment, or even Dave himself, and he was determined to never let any of his friends find them. That would be super weird to explain, especially if Dave is the one to find them. Or Rose. _Or Dave._

Venturing to Dave’s apartment to cheer him up ended up working for both of them. Dave seemed much more relaxed after a few minutes of John just being there, and the longer he stayed, the more Dave’s body language picked up and the more he smiled. Most of them were just tiny little smirks, just him being cocky about embarrassing John or cracking a joke, but there was one time- he wasn’t even trying for this!- he made Dave just lose his shit. Again.

John isn’t sure if there’s actually a way for him to explain how much he enjoys Dave laughing, even to himself. Whether he’s seeing his face crinkle up- shades or not- or hearing his laugh, or watching him bend over to hide his face while his shoulders shake, John can’t help the fluttering that starts in his belly. It’s so precious to see, and after their first interaction at that McDonald’s (another thing that frequents John’s thoughts), he feels as if every chance he gets to see Dave laughing or even just sneaking a smirk out of him is something he should hold on to, something he shouldn’t ever forget because it’s something so fantastic and beautiful and he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see the next one.

He’s getting distracted again.

The day has considerably brightened up since he’s been here with Dave. They’ve started a movie, chatted a little bit, and now he’s offering food? The only thing that could make this better, John thinks as he drops against the edge of the counter, is if they could have another little moment like they had a few minutes before. Dave’s hands had been hot on top of his, a little bit bigger and squeezing him only slightly. They were very close together, too; it was easy to do while Dave was distracted with wheezing. John would admit that he did take advantage of the situation to step in closer, but with the way they had been toying with each other, he figures they might have ended up that close anyway. If only he had gathered the guts to rise up on his toes and just _go for that kiss..._

John is pulled away from his thoughts by Dave proposing food again. “What do you want?”

Oh. “I don’t know. What do you have? I’m in the mood for something warm, do you have anything like that?”

Dave turns back to the fridge, rooting around inside of it. John briefly checks out his ass. Nice. “Uh… I have leftover pasta.” John perks right up at that, squaring his shoulders. He glances away from his butt as Dave turns around, holding a rubber tub full of noodles. It doesn’t look like very much, but John still wants it.

“What kind is it?”

Dave laughs, setting it on the counter and closing the fridge. “Fuck if I even remember, I picked the hardest word to pronounce off the menu of this Italian place and it looks pretty weird but it tastes really good.”

John is sure it’s going to be delicious. Just not if it’s going to be enough. “Is that going to feed both of us?”

Dave pops the lid off and looks in at it. “...No. But I can, uh, bread? Yeah, we can get some other shit on this.”

Oh shit, he doesn’t want to eat all of Dave’s food! “Hey, that’s alright. I am two things: not terribly hungry and perfectly fine with sharing.” Dave still seems jittery compared to John’s calm, easy attitude.

“Cool.” He gets to work dumping it in two bowls and setting them in the microwave, grabbing something else. John isn’t even paying attention to what he’s doing now, still just watching him move. He’s got a kind of smooth, elegant thing going on, like he’s completely sure of what he’s doing. John could really only tell he was jittery still by his furrowed brow and his trembling fingers.

His shoulders are really nice too; they work perfectly with his body's proportions, and they're a little slouched but still confident. Typical coolkid posture. Dave's back has a nice curve to it, and when he turns slightly, he takes note of a nice tummy as well. It's probably soft but still muscled. His eyes fall just a little farther south, and it’s at that second that John remembers Dave isn’t wearing any pants. With a new, burning blush on his face, John huffs and quickly looks away.

Luckily, Dave seems to have not noticed anything. Phew. “Tada. Back to the living room?” He offers John one of the bowls of noodles topped with a roll, nodding along when John thanks him as they both sit back down.

Neither of them had paused the movie. Neither of them move to rewind it either- it’s a comedy, after all, so even if they miss the start of this bit another one is sure to come up. As funny as the movie proves to be, John still find his attention more often than not being pulled to the boy beside him. For some reason he really just cannot keep his eyes off of him. Usually he's pretty observant, even if things don't connect in his brain until later, but with someone he barely knows? That's creepy, John, even if he probably is your soulmate. With another sigh he looks down at his bowl, twirling noodles onto the fork and munching into his bread with the bite.

He’s eating much, much slower than Dave, who finishes his food about five minutes later. He’s still looking between his noodles and Dave when he thinks he hears his voice. "Hm?" John lifts his head, chewing slowly when he realizes Dave had actually addressed him directly. "Uh, sorry. What did you say?"

Dave’s looking at him funny now. Once again, he’s caught being spacey, and he’s embarrassed. “Are you okay?"

"Oh! Hah, yeah, sorry man. I was just thinking."

He scoffs, carefully getting up to put his bowl in the sink. "Right. And what's so important that it's distracting you from Bo?"

"Hey!" John fishes a noodle out from his food and balls it up, flicking it at Dave. It lands on his shoulder and John elects to avoid answering the question. "I don't like your tone, mister."

Dave frowns at him and whines, “Duuuuude, what the fuck!” Then he scoops his finger through his food and smears it on John’s face before running away.

The sauce makes the noodles stick momentarily, but John can feel the heavy food slipping down his cheek. It's disgusting. "Bluh! Dave!" He squeals, grabbing the slop before it can fall to the ground and wiping the rest off of his face. He sloppily abandons his bowl on the coffee table, almost knocking over his can of soda, before jumping up and chasing after Dave. Who is just standing in the kitchen, bowl in the sink with his hands up.

“John. John, we’re even. You don’t have to do this.” John stalks up to him regardless, holding his messy hand up threateningly. He's still grinning, although now it's more mischievous than playful, and he elects not to speak but to continue creeping closer as Dave keeps talking.

“I’m serious, dude, just back the fuck off, keep the pasta to yourself.” John ignores him until he's maybe half a foot away. He doesn't make a move to attack, just hovers there.

"You were gracious enough to share, I should only return the favor."

“Joooohn,” Dave makes this ridiculous face, like he’s trying to pout at him but it doesn’t work with the shades still covering his eyes.

"Daaaave," he mocks him.

Dave finally grabs his wrist, laughing. “Aha!”

"Let go!" He starts to complain, laughing and struggling against his hold. As best as he can, he rises up on the balls of his feet to try to pat the pasta onto Dave's nose, but because they're flailing around so much he ends up dropping more of on his shirt. Oops. Still, it’s a success! Prankster's gambit filled.

Dave stares at him, face flat, for more than a few seconds before he finally says, “Alright, fuck off, I’ve gotta change shirts now ‘cause of you.”

John just bites his lip to hold in a giggle as Dave deadpans at him, pasta sauce dripping from his nose. He can't take it anymore; he covers his own mouth with his hands and starts snickering into it, leading into an all-out cackle at him. "S-sorry, dude, you should've seen your face!" Dave flips him off, shoving his chest so he can shoulder around him and go to his room. "Don't be sour," John calls after him, collapsing against the nearest wall in a fit of giggles.

Dave pushes past him again, coming out of his room with a bright pink bundle of clothing, heading straight to the bathroom. At this point John has calmed to the point of an occasional huff of laughter, watching after Dave. The water starts running and, for whatever reason, Dave didn't shut the door all the way, so he can see the other trying to splash water around his sunglasses. Heh.

Actually, from this angle, he can see most of Dave as he moves. John shuffles a little more against the wall, hopefully hiding himself from Dave's view. Maybe he'll just be too distracted to notice John.

John, who is shamelessly peeping on his friend changing shirts- well, maybe a little shamefully, but not enough to stop. Dave tugs his shirt up over his head and John cranes his neck a bit to keep watching, and damn, is Dave fit. He's not ripped, by any means, but he absolutely is lean and muscular. The curve of his back is even nicer naked, John notes, and he sighs to himself and sinks back against the wall. Starting to get hot-faced and embarrassed now, he turns to look away, but something catches his eye. Something he would recognize anywhere.

Dave's tattoo.

He shouldn't look, he really shouldn't- _Dave trusts me enough to not look, I should respect his privacy and just turn around, go sit down, clean up, anything else-_ except by the time he has processed these thoughts, it's too late, and he's already read it.

_Play me a song._

Oh, god. John slumps against the wall and covers his mouth, instantly nauseous. Jesus, he feels like he's gonna hurl. Or cry. Most likely both, if anything.

Dave is his soulmate, of that much John is sure. He was ninety percent sure the first moment he met him, but the more time they spent together the more he was convinced. He liked Dave, he really did; he was more interesting than anybody else John had ever met, and he brought a lot to John's perspective of the world. He had fun when he was with Dave. It could just be the crush-butterflies in his stomach talking, but he wants to spend as much time as he possibly can with Dave, no matter what they do.

It could be, but very likely isn't, those same butterflies that are causing the twisting in John's tummy right now. He knows he wasn't supposed to look. He knows he should have waited until Dave gathered enough trust himself to share that piece of him with John, he knew all of this and yet he still went against it. He stayed, and saw, and now he feels like personified shit. Animal feces given breath and life, that's John Egbert, all for betraying his new friend's trust.

He knows Dave is his soulmate without a doubt. According to their tattoos, at least, and as far as he could see, the exact same thing was true for everybody else. Rose and Kanaya, his father and his mother, more friends from school and just people he saw on a daily basis, in his classes or at work or just around on the streets. Their tattoos and their stories all matched up, and they were all perfect couples because of it. He had just never counted on the feeling with Dave being mutual, never once considered the very real possibility that _he_ was also _Dave's_ soulmate, too focused on his end of it to pay attention to the other.

This new train of thought is making him sick and dizzy again, so he doesn't notice he's actually slipping down the wall until there's a loud thunk and a hissed curse from the bathroom across from him, probably Dave accidentally bumping into something.

Startled, John moves faster than he thinks he might have ever moved in his whole life, and he scrambles back to the lounge room on wobbly legs, tripping over the cables winding from Dave's room to the stereo system out here. To try to play his little freak out off- there is always later to worry about those things- and seem composed when Dave returns, he sits down on the couch and continues eating his food. It's pretty lukewarm by now, and he finishes it quickly, putting it in the sink beside Dave's just as he comes out of the bathroom. The dishes clank together loudly, mostly because his hands are shaking still, but he smiles at Dave anyway. "Hey, uh, sorry about that. Heh." His voice is a little shaky too, just barely- is there any part of him that is steady?

Dave gives him a weird look (go figure). It's amplified by the fact he isn't wearing his sunglasses anymore, and something in John's gut twists the moment their eyes lock so he quickly looks back at the sink. “Sorry about what? Smearing noodles all over my shirt-well, darling, you don’t have to worry about it.” His voice is sugar sweet. Like acid. It soothes John and yet terrifies him, at the same time. He settles on a snort.

"Pft, whatever. Don't go all southern charmer on me, I need you here, on _this_ Earth."

“I keep telling you, the south isn’t where people think it is but it’s still on planet Earth. In, to be exact. And anyways that wasn’t the point! Keep your eyes peeled, John ‘cause no one does revenge like us rednecks."

John frowns at him. He is way too proud about that. "You're from New York, dumbass." Dave just smirks at him. John opens his mouth to say something back, but that's the exact moment his eyes decide to notice Dave's attire.

"That's a Barbie shirt," he thinks out loud, pointing dumbly at Dave's chest.

“Did you just notice? Are your glasses working?” His hand goes up like he’s going to touch them only to flick John’s forehead.

"Ouch!" John smacks Dave's hand away reflexively. "Yes, it might have taken me until just now to see it."

“What were you looking at then?” Ooh, his voice is way too suggestive. Just like every other time, it makes John blush again. God damn it.

"Just your entire outfit. No pants, red boxers, bright pink shirt that literally screams, 'I'm a Barbie girl!'- you look." He doesn’t even have words for it. It looks ridiculous, but at the same time... Ugh. Focus, John, you're having a conversation with him, not mentally undressing him.

“I look…” Dave’s way too close to him. He was already pretty close from when he flicked him, but now he's either moving forward or John's depth perception is going wonky- regardless of what's happening, he feels himself pressed up against the counter. Dave is incredibly close to him, the slightest smirk on his face and his eyebrows quirked, gaze boring into his own. It's almost like he's daring John to finish his thought, and he can't decide whether or not he wants to back out.

That face. He can't. "...Ridiculous. And really hot still, somehow."

The air goes still and silent between them. Neither of them say anything. John's not breathing- he's pretty sure Dave isn't either, although his heartbeat is too loud in his own ears to hear anything. There have been silences after compliments he had given Dave before, but nothing this... Intimate.

The word makes John's head spin. The only thing keeping him grounded is Dave's eyes fixated on his own, intensely flicking between both of his. They're a vibrant red, but also dark and determined, whereas John's are bright blue, pupils blown wide and looking straight at Dave's. So it makes sense that his stomach drops like he just flipped off of a roller coaster when Dave's gaze flicks down, the quickest of movements, but John knows exactly what happened and where Dave looked and  what he's thinking and _fuck, shit, he can't do this now, he wants to so bad but not after seeing Dave's words, not now, not today any day but today please Dave not today-_

Panicking, John pushes just lightly enough against Dave's chest to gain his attention. He's definitely breathing now, quickly through his nose, his fingers tightening between small folds in Dave's stupid Barbie shirt. "D-Dave," he stutters softly. "The, uh, movie is. Still playing."

It breaks the moment. It _shatters_ it. Dave looks away, swallows hard and steps back. “Right, we should probably turn that off.” Dave's voice is quiet, maybe a little hurt, and fuck John feels like he's going to cry now. His throat's tightening and his eyes are burning and Jesus Christ he probably just ruined all of this.

All because he couldn't just accept the stupid kiss from his dumb, adorable soulmate.

_Soulmate._ ; Feeling sick again, John ducks out of his space, past Dave and back to the couch, curling up exactly where he had before when he and Dave were close enough to touch.

Dave takes a little while longer to join him, stopping the DVD and turning the tv off. He doesn’t look at him, rubbing his arm. “Sorry, I think you need to leave. I’m-I’m not feeling that great. Tired, you know?”

John knows that it's a lie, a flimsy excuse to get him to leave. He can't blame him. "Yeah," he says, getting up. He doesn't know if it's better now to pretend nothing happened or to bumble around awkwardly. "I hope you feel better soon." Dave kind of nods and holds the door open for him. Embarrassed beyond belief, he ducks his head in thanks as he walks out without a word.

Right before he puts his second foot across the threshold, he pivots on it and rises up to kiss Dave on the cheek. He walks off quickly, not looking back. It's nothing close to an apology for his rejection, but it's the closest he can get right now.

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] started pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] \--    
TG: rose fuck i fucked everything up

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] started pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--   
EB: i totally fucking ruined things today, rose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay’s notes: this chapter was all over the place but i had a hella lot of fun writing it. the end is my favorite actually. the whole thing was just so much fun gdi it gave me butterflies aaah. thanks again to loren for beta reading this chapter, to renee for writing all of dave’s parts, and to myself for writing john’s. bc john is a babe and i’m proud of making that happen. chapter six should be up within the next couple of days, probably before the end of the week, so keep an eye out on here and our tumblrs for that! once again, those are http://renee-descartes.tumblr.com and http://saltshayker.tumblr.com :) thanks for reading!


	6. Sloppy Seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee’s notes: ‘Nother day, another update. It’s a sort of in between chapter but I know we had a lot of fun writing it, me (barely) writing Rose again (Kanaya was supposed to make an appearance but I’ve never written her before and I didn’t want to try)  
> This and the last chapter weren’t beta’d but that is A-Okay, Shay and I tag team it, so thanks go to you. Every one of you. We are so, so grateful that anyone chooses to spend their time on our story, and we never stop being excited about any and all feedback. (Also to Shay, of course, because I’m always glad I get to spend time with her be it writing gay shit or being gay together playing video games.)  
> Next chapter though, oh boy. Let me tease you with this: seven actually out-does five as far as plot and epic revelations go, and with seven I’ll be posting the first of hopefully many one-shots to go along with our story (gosh I’m so excited).

Dave spends the next week alone, sitting around and thinking in between bouts of completely immersing himself in school and work and mixing. Halloween is coming up, and as the biggest theme night of the year for clubs, he has a lot of work to do. Those times are his favorites. He almost feels normal again, like before he even met John; just him in his apartment, mixing until he can’t see straight and his fingers are so raw he has to bandage them.

He doesn’t talk to Rose. The last time John had come over, after he’d left and Dave had stood with the door open for an eternity, thinking thinking thinking, after all that he’d collapsed on his couch and had a long conversation with his sister. She had been slow, like when she’s distracted, and wouldn’t answer when he pointed it out. She hadn’t been a lot of help.

So when he’s not working, he thinks. He spent three years without his sister there next to him, he could figure this out. He ignores the thought that _you still messaged her from Texas when you had bad days._

EB: hey. i hope you have a good day today.   
TG: you too

He thinks about John, of course. It’s all he ever thinks about lately. He spends a lot of time loathing himself for that thing in the kitchen. Spends a little time hating John for it, for how he feels, but he’s not stupid. It’s not John’s fault he ever thought that maybe he could keep him without their tattoos to seal the deal.

It is John’s fault that he’s so fucking confused. That’s what he spends most of his time focused on, once he’s figured out his own feelings- trying to figure out what John thinks. He really needs to ask him, though, because after a week he still has no idea. He thought- he wanted to believe so, so badly that maybe John liked him. He’d called him cute, called him hot, there was no doubt about that but it wasn’t just that, John spent all this time with him, like he actually cared, they were _friends._

And then Dave tried to kiss him, and John pushed him away.

And _then_ , to make everything that much more ridiculous, John kissed his cheek anyways, all nervous, and left. Like an apology.

It cheered Dave up, sure. He doesn’t want to admit to how long he’d sat on his couch, just touching his face where he’d finally felt John’s lips, his breath. It’s the little bit of hope he can’t ignore that makes him think he wasn’t wrong when it looked like John cared. But it still felt like an apology, and Dave knows better by now than to get his hopes up.

EB: apparently there’s a bad storm coming, just watch out because power could go out in the area.   
TG: okay

Every now and then one of them will make an effort to get things back on track. Little messages. Whenever he’s in a good mood, he’ll text him until inevitably Dave remembers how torn up he is about everything _he doesn’t like you anymore never did stop trying_ and retreats. Half the time Dave doesn’t even reply.

TG: okay but do dogs even know theyre dogs   
EB: why are you awake right now??   
TG: why do you care   
TG: its a free world pisscouch   
EB: it’s half past four am and you’re texting me.   
EB: let me sleep, i have to work.

One night Dave spends an hour laying on his floor, music pumping through the room and his phone dings and he has to throw it across the room just so he doesn’t scream at him, _why won’t you just tell me_ , even though Dave knows the answer is _you haven’t asked._

* * *

The next several days are hell for John. Sunday night he tries messaging Rose, but she seems distant, occupied, so they just exchange a quick goodnight and a promise to talk at a later time. To avoid giving himself time to sit around deep in thought and mope about Dave, John focuses the majority of his time and energy on his schoolwork. Most of his classes only have a couple units left before they start preparations for finals, and he hasn’t been terribly focused on the curriculum the past few weeks. Ever since he met Dave, if he was honest.

It was pointless to say how much Dave affected him, especially after this… Whatever they’re going through right now. This awkward phase of aversion, of uncomfortably dancing around each other. John knows better than to intrude on Dave’s space for the first few days- closer to a week, actually, but after some time he tries again, just gentle little attempts. Nothing big, because he understands that he damaged their relationship, and he can’t even explain why without making things so much worse. Because he betrayed Dave’s trust and found something he wasn’t supposed to see, and then let that affect him when Dave tried to kiss him, and- ugh, he hates just thinking about it. So he doesn’t, doesn’t think actively on it, but it’s there in the back of his mind, it’s there in the conversations he tries to start with Dave that always fail because he rarely ever gets a reply. In fact, John can probably count the number of times he’s seen that bright red- _almost the same shade as Dave’s eyes, and fuck, here comes the guilt again_ \- text pop up on his screen in the past week on one hand. Even if they were all hours, sometimes even days after his original message.

EB: good morning!

It was just little things. Mostly small, insignificant messages that John would have sent anyway, although now he sends them with a guilty conscience and, the first few times, he actually has to look away from his phone as he sends them.

Dave’s answers get shorter and shorter until he just stops replying altogether. It stings, John will admit, but he can understand why. He probably would be doing the same thing in Dave’s shoes- hell, he kind of already is. Eventually he stops messaging Dave as well, and by that point, Rose had already invited him to her apartment “to talk.” He’s a little afraid of what that means, but he knows he needs to go- there’s only so much he can vent to his cousin and his roommate, and he has a lot of shit he needs to sort through.

TG: am i the only one increasingly pissed off by all of this bullshit surrounding larry stokes like jesus lay off   
EB: who is larry stokes?   
TG: nevermind

The days pass simultaneously fast and slow, speeding through classes and work in a quiet manner. He knows he sees Rez and their other co-workers give him pity glances out of the corner of his eyes when they think he can’t see them. At first they upset him but the longer it continues the less he cares. Rez even tries to pull him over one day to ask who that “cute blonde with the sunglasses” was, and he just shakes his head dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” he had told her. If only he could follow his own advice.

EB: rose is kind of worried about you. and i am too.   
EB: just take care of yourself, i guess. which i know you’re more than capable of doing anyway.

Soon enough, it’s Wednesday- a week and a half since he’s seen Dave, and a week and a half since he’s been able to sleep through a full night. He’s supposed to go see Rose in an hour, and he’s choosing to walk there, since she doesn’t live terribly far away. Uncomfortably close to Dave, actually, but he tries not to remember walking there as he takes a slightly different route to Rose’s apartment.

He’s freshly showered and dressed for the weather, wearing a light jacket over a kind of thick, dark green sweater. His hair is still wet but all of his hats are currently dirty, so the most he could grab before leaving was a pair of fuzzy gray earmuffs. They look pretty damn stupid on John, but he loves them and they keep his ears warm, so he ignores the aesthetic of them. He left his gloves at home, too, and he’s starting to regret it. Pockets aren’t all that warm. Neither is his neck, but that’s one thing he won’t complain about.

Another twenty minutes takes John to the threshold of Rose’s front door, a plain welcome mat with nothing but a scripted ‘R & K’ in the bottom corner. He laughs at it, because that’s just so adorable it’s warming him up inside. There’s a potted plant in front of the only window facing the front, and John thinks it might actually be fake, because there’s no way something would look that healthy in this weather.

He raps his knuckles on the door once, twice, three times, and waits patiently for Rose to open up and let him inside, because damn, it’s actually kind of cold out here when you’ve been walking for forever. It doesn’t take her that long, thankfully. She smiles pleasantly when she sees him, nuzzled up in her own sweater. “John, great to finally see you! Come on,” she steps out of the way so he can step inside.

“Thanks,” he laughs and steps inside. The main room is fairly clean, only with a few books left laying out, little pieces of cut fabric laying on the coffee table, a stack of clean clothes laid over the back of a loveseat. Actually it’s kind of messy, he guesses, but it’s nothing compared to his half of his dorm.

“Would you like anything to drink? We have tea, and Halloween cookies.” She gestures for him to sit down, playing the perfect host as always. Rose is pretty much everything John aspires to be, although he would never tell her that to her face. He takes a seat on the edge of the couch, curling up but still respectfully keeping his shoes off of the cushions. He covers a yawn quickly before he answers.

“If you wouldn’t mind, tea would be nice. It is killer cold outside today.”

Rose nods and goes to get the tea going. Changing his mind about sitting, John hops up and follows. “So where is Kanaya? I thought I’d get to see her pretty face again today.” She gives him this polished smile, all lipstick and-it’s almost a smirk, actually.

“Working, as always. Halloween’s prime time in the business of clothing.” Oh, right. John always forgets where Kanaya works.

Briefly he wonders if Dave is busy with Halloween coming up too, but he very quickly brushes that thought away. “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing her again. We should plan another time when all of us can get together.” He smiles at that, all toothy and happy as he leans against the counter and she works on the tea. He loves coming to Rose’s place and just generally seeing her, being around her. She gives off a really good vibe, something that feeds his energy.

“You’re always welcome to join us for Halloween. We still plan on watching horror movies, you know.” John scowls at her, and her smile just gets even bigger as the kettle whistles.

John pulls out two coffee mugs for them, setting them on the counter beside the stove. “You _know_  I’m not a big fan of horror,” he whines.

“Just an invitation! One can hope, anyways.” Cue another smirk. Those were going to be abundant tonight, for sure. He sighs as Rose pours the water into their mugs, and fetches two teabags. As he takes one from her, he looks up, kind of pouty. That’s probably how his expression ends up anyways because he’s starting to feel a little distressed again. There was a reason he came here today, it wasn’t just to sit around a cup of tea and catch up.

Once they both have their tea, Rose ushers him back to the living room. “You’re here to talk about Dave, correct?” Her Serious Face is on as she stirs her drink. John nods solemnly.

“Yeah.” He sets his drink down on his knee, looking at the water slowly turning colors. “I really think I messed things up last Sunday, Rose.” He can feel everything bubbling up inside him now, everything he had to keep bottled up threatening to overflow and explode all at once. He has to take a deep breath to steady himself, trying to get his thoughts under control.

“I went to his place to cheer him up or whatever, right, and it was actually going pretty well. We were watching a movie- a comedy skit, actually, Bo Burnham or someone- and teasing each other and playing around and flirting a lot. It was awesome! It was really awesome. But anyway, he had to change his shirt because I threw a bunch of noodles at him. He didn’t really close the door all the way and I could still kind of see into the bathroom, so I was _maybe_ watching him or whatever. No big deal. But I- I saw it, Rose, I saw his tattoo and I saw what it said and it was _my_ words, what I said to him the day we met. And I freaked out, but he never knew, and I haven’t told him yet and I’m really scared to, but then we were in the kitchen and I was putting my dishes away, and we were talking just a bit and I think I called him hot? But he was wearing this bright-ass pink Barbie shirt, and it looked really stupid, okay, but he was still hot. So I told him that, and then he tried to kiss me, and I flipped! I panicked. And I pushed him away. Physically and emotionally. He’s barely talked to me all week. It’s been like ten days since we’ve had a real conversation, and that was at his apartment before the almost-kiss thing!” John inhales sharply at the end of that, having used up all of his air to blab it all out. The calming he tried to do beforehand didn’t really help at all. He looks at Rose again, expression pleading.

She actually looks a little shocked. She sets her tea down on the table beside her and leans forward. “You’re sure? You absolutely are his soulmate?” What? What kind of question is that, why is she putting her tea down?

He just kind of stares for a second. “What? I don’t know! I think so? My tattoo is what he said, and his is what I said, that’s how it works, right? Is that what happened with you and Kan?”

“Yes, that’s how it works, honestly, “ she laughs, “You’d think you would know that. I’m just making sure that- that it’s true! It’s hardly every day you find out your friend and brother are eachother’s soulmates.”

That gets him to calm down a little. He chuckles back, sipping at his tea and leaning back into the couch. Seeing Rose calmer than him is usually a good way to get him to chill out. “Heh, yeah. Same with finding out your friend and your soulmate are actually related to each other.” He sighs again, frowning. He kind of wishes Dave were here to talk with them, but god, he really needs to stop doing that. _Stop wishing Dave into situations, John, he’s not coming back anytime soon._

“Is that all, then?” She leans back again, smiling softly. Is that it? What does that mean? John mulls it over, zoning out a little. Rose’s voice pulls him back, though.

“How do you feel about Dave? Honestly.” There’s that Serious Face again, but this time, the intended effect of it hits John a lot harder.

How does he feel about Dave? He hadn’t known him long at all, only for about twenty-four days- not like he was counting or anything, of course not- but in that time, quite a bit had happened. Granted, it didn’t seem like much, but he just felt like there was a certain... Chemistry, between the two of them. Making friends had always come easily to John, but there were not many people who he willingly let into his close circle, and especially not as fast as Dave had gotten there. And of course they were friends; they drank together, and Dave surprised him at work, and they fucking ran away from a cop together. How could two people not form a bond after that?

Still, every time he was around Dave, he felt like there was a spark, or just _something else between them_ , something he couldn’t exactly name. It was definitely less platonic than how his other friendships usually started, but John had never thought about someone being romantically interested in someone before platonically. Did that even happen? Assuming it could, he of course valued Dave’s friendship, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t more interested in pursuing a relationship with him. A different kind than the one it seemed like they were forming. Until the end of that night, though, which made his stomach churn just remembering it. He should have just kissed him, he really should have! At the very least, not have reacted as strongly as he did. Dave hadn’t even been leaning in that much, all he really had to do was look away. Offer to do the dishes, pretend his phone had vibrated in his pocket, fake his knees giving out. Really anything but what he did do.

His mind starts playing out what the alternative to that situation could have been, if he had actually stayed where he was. It probably would have been really gentle and sweet, hesitant but caring. Hands on hips, shoulders, fingers resting lightly, too nervous and scared to do much more. Every movement would have been like handling broken glass, careful not to cut with the sharp, ragged edge of how much was too much, and how much was not enough. Had they kept at it, Dave might have even gingerly picked him up and rested his butt on the counter, stepping forward until he could wraps his arms all the way around John’s torso, and John could lock his arms around Dave’s neck, all without ever breaking apart...

Rose taps him on the knee, and when he jerks up, she’s raising an eyebrow at him expectantly. Oh, shit, she had asked a question, and his thoughts had gone totally off-track. “Um… I really like him, Rose. And not just because he’s my soulmate, I think. It seems like he actually has the romantic potential to be a soulmate to me, you know? I also like being his friend, but I want to kiss him and snuggle up with him and touch him in a lot of ways more than I want to sit around drinking and playing stupid games and watching movies.” He rubs at his arm, suddenly shy now that he had actually admitted it out loud.

She seems satisfied with that, smiling again. “Perfect. As Dave’s sister, I think you should pursue that before anything else. It sounds like he’s willing, and it’s important you build up your relationship again before you try to convince him to accept you as his soulmate.”

“How do I do that without scaring him away?” John’s worrying at his lip now; he knew coming over to see Rose was a good idea. She always helped him feel better, but maybe she could help him figure out what the hell to do next, too.

She takes a moment to think about it, sipping at her tea again. “As for your current predicament, sometimes David just… He needs a strong push in the right direction. You don’t have to worry about offending him or pushing him farther away, even if he reacts badly, just be insistent about what you want.” That sounds like it could be dangerous, but Rose is his sister, so John’s a little more open to the idea. He’s still going to be wary, though.

“Are you sure? I mean, you do know him a lot better than I do, but still. I don’t want to be annoying.”

“No! Trust me, you want to be annoying. Honestly, it’s the only way to get him to do anything.”

John reluctantly accepts, but it’s safe to say that he is feeling much, much better. At least he has a rough outline of a plan now. John can only stay for a couple hours, since he has to “get home to clean,” so they spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on each other’s lives. Rose gushes about Kanaya for a good chunk of time, and promises that if John joins them on their Thanksgiving holiday, he’ll have plenty more opportunities to talk to her.

“Tell me how it goes, okay?” She smiles at him as she walks him to the door, and John nods reassuringly.

“Yeah, I will. Thanks a lot, Rose, you may have just saved my ass here.” He gives her a tight hug, lingering a bit longer than he usually would. She squeezes him tight, going along with it.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” She teases.

John rolls his eyes and pulls away, scoffing a little. “Oh, shut up. You rub this in my face every time I ask you for something. So before this becomes a ‘Praise-Rose’ party or something, and before it drops to freezing cold degrees outside, I should head out.” He pats her cheek once, grinning, and heads outside. “Actually reply when I message you this time, too, yeah?”

It doesn’t even faze her. “You’re not the only person coming to me for guidance, John, and I can’t help the fact that sometimes more than one person messages me at once.” John laughs and gives her a little wave, starting the walk back home. As soon as he gets a decent distance away from Rose’s apartment building, he pulls out his phone.

EB: if you get a free weekend anytime soon please call me.

\-- ectoBiologist [EB] started pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--   
EB: hey, i know you read my message, because you’re always on pesterchum.   
EB: what are you doing on saturday?   
TG: sleeping probably   
EB: ok, well, do plenty of that on friday night and then get up early because we’re doing something.   
TG: sure we are   
TG: theres no way im getting up before two pm bro   
EB: then just be ready at three thirty.   
EB: i don’t care when, but we’re doing something this saturday, okay?   
TG: dude im spending friday night and a large part of saturday morning at a club playing music for the masses just fuck off okay   
EB: fine.   
TG: next week?   
EB: sure. i’m free.   
EB: try to actually call me this time.   
TG: dont know what youre talking about   
EB: sure you don't. see you next weekend!   
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay's notes: [so originally renee uploaded this without notes first and then after i added mine she deleted them how incredible is that i'm so blessed and thankful to have such a great partner for this fic] this chapter was definitely a filler but it was hella fun to write!! there was a lot of important stuff john had to think through which i lOVED TO WRITE plus a lil more rose. i am eternally thankful to have renee around tbh because i can't write rose for shit and she does it soooo well. i hope y'all enjoyed this!! chapter seven should be out pretty soon! :]


	7. Open Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee’s notes: I DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT SWORDS OKAY THE FACTUAL STUFF IS FROM SHAY DAVE FLOPPING AROUND TRYING TO PRETEND HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING THAT’S ME  
> There's a lot of re-writing going on but more on that next chapter; for now I hope you enjoy some of the last angst we have to offer. There's a lot of it. When you're done reading, there's even more angst in the form of a prequel one-shot (hyper linked in the fic or just check my profile)  
> Annnd we finally get rid of the old name. We've been debating it for a while but put it off, and here it is!  
> Also thanks for all the feedback we've been getting! We're always so goddamn excited every time we get another kudos and comments? Screaming and jumping around and happy, happy chaos. So thanks.

Halloween is spent mixing. He’d actually gotten into a pretty good club this year, which meant good money and (hopefully) less people puking. Yeah, right.

It’s a good night though, which means he doesn’t have to do anything Saturday or Sunday-he had traded his morning shift at the shop and he wasn’t DJing again that night, which meant getting home at four am and sleeping for twelve hours.

John doesn’t give up on him. He gets at least two messages every day, like the past week only even more insistent. After John’s weird episode of trying to force him into going out, he’s even more confused, but vows to put up a little more effort. So he answers most of the messages, and they even have a couple actual long conversations. Even if they were shitty ones.

Soon enough it’s been another whole week since he’s seen John. He can’t say he hadn’t missed him; in fact, that had hit him the hardest at times. He missed having someone so positive in his life. He missed all the times they were laughing and joking and just talking, missed looking at him.

He gets to see him again, though. He’s half looking forward to it, half dreading it, which leads him to being pretty jittery. They’d agreed to meet at Dave’s apartment again, since it was getting increasingly cold out and they couldn’t really hang out in John’s tiny dorm. He’d actually spent some time cleaning at first, though at this point there was pretty much no point- he just wanted to hide the fact that he’d spent two weeks in a minor depression as best as he could. He likes to think he’s done pretty well. Clean apartment, clean body, decent outfit (read: ugly Christmas sweater and jeans), and he’d eaten during his lunch break at work.

John knocks on his door at three thirty on the dot, which is great because any later and Dave would probably have started freaking out, fast. He takes a minute before he opens the door to -take a deep breath- annoy John, grumbling when he starts knocking again. “Yeah, yeah,” he talks as he swings the door open, “sup.”

“Hey Dave!” John greets enthusiastically as the door opens, peeking around it. The first thing he notices is the fluffy gray earmuffs, light against his dark hair. They match the sweater he’s wearing, plain gray with green trim. It doesn’t quite qualify as an ugly sweater, but it’s not very pretty, either. His hands are tucked loosely into his pockets, and he bounces on the heels of his beat-up sneakers. “Mind if I come in? It’s freezing out here.”

“No. You have to stay out there. If you so much as put one finger inside my apartment, I will release the attack dogs.” His voice is flat as he holds the door open wider, expectant. John just grins and steps inside. Dave shuts the door after him and hopes he doesn’t get caught looking him over. It’s unexpectedly painful, seeing him again after everything. He wants to hug him, punch him, get the hell out of there. He can’t do any of that, so he settles for leaning against the door and trying to keep his lunch down.

John’s a little farther into the apartment than Dave is, looking around even though he’s been there before, earmuffs hanging loosely around his neck. “It looks nice in here,” he comments idly. He even steps closer to one of the katana pairs mounted up on a wall, looking at them carefully but still staying a few feet away. “Can you actually use these?” He asks over his shoulder, pointing to the swords.

“Yeah, of course.” His eyebrow wrinkles unintentionally, he’s so appalled at the idea that he’s some kind of loser who just keeps shitty swords around to stare at. “Could kick your ass with one.”

Of course he laughs again, turning around. “I’m not even going to pretend you couldn’t. Can I see? Promise I won’t freak out this time.”

Dave just nods, looking over them all before pulling one of the better ones off the wall. “Here,” he shoves it at him, holding it longways. “Be careful though, it’s sharp.” John carefully takes the handle, and as Dave lets go of the sheath he can see it shake a little before John’s holding it in both hands.

“Do I just tug on this part?” He asks, holding the end of the sheath carefully.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, you’re a lot more likely to hurt yourself than it.”

“Thanks,” John scoffs back, pulling the blade out slowly. Most of it is showing by the time he glances up at Dave, smiling nervously. “It’s heavy,” he observes as he turns his wrist, watching the light shine off the blade. The blunt edge is maybe a quarter of an inch thick, whereas the blade is a little thicker than a piece of paper. John barely brushes a finger over it. “Pretty, too.”

“Ain’t it?” He’s a little nervous that John’s going to do something stupid, but the whole thing honestly helps calm him down. Swords, he can do. “This one actually isn’t that special, like, some blades are forged in the fires of the gods or something, and some have really cool stories. There’s this one, uh, sakabatou,” he winces at his own pronunciation, laughing, “which means 'reverse-edged sword,' so the blunt edge and the blade edge are flipped, supposedly because some old assassin didn’t want to be an assassin anymore and made this sword so he could fight but never kill.” He brushes over the sword as he talks, to narrate better.

John’s holding it carefully with both hands, watching Dave’s fingers move across it, brushing his thumb across the waves by the blade made from folding the metal. “That’s a nice story,” he mutters, looking at the handle now. Nothing really special down there. “Do you have any of those? I’m, uh, I’m done looking at this one, I think. And probably holding it too.”

He laughs a little, taking it from him carefully. Once it’s out of John’s hands he’s pretty fluid in putting it back in it’s sheath and hanging it again. “Nah, none of those. What’s the point of a sword that can’t make you fear for your life?”

He earns a frown shot quickly in his direction before John’s up on his toes, pointing to the smallest sword on the wall, maybe only a foot or so long. “That one looks like a dagger, or something that someone would hide for close-combat kills. Is that right?”

“Yeah. Pain in the ass though, sword-fighting’s already a close-combat game and then you wanna make it harder for yourself by using a tiny sword? Nah, so I don’t know anyone who uses that.”

“Do you know many people who use any of these?” By now John has stepped away from the walls, admiring the swords left from a distance. He’s probably had enough of close encounters.

“Not really, no. Dirk has a lot of friends and there’s a couple guys I know because of that and we talk sometimes, but it’s rare.” He eyes him. He stills seems a little nervous, and Dave kind of wants to -show off- be a dick. “Wanna see me use one?”

John’s head whips over to look at him, wide-eyed. “Seriously? Not in here, right?”

Beautiful. “No, not in here, the roof dingbat.”

That’s apparently more favorable to John, because he nods and smiles, turning to Dave. “Right now? It’s still pretty cold out there.”

“You’re already gonna say yes, I can see it.” He smirks.

John darts forward and playfully smacks Dave’s arm. “Shut up and take me to the roof.”

“Hey! No need to get violent,” he rubs his arm poutily.

“Oh come on, you big baby,” John laughs. “Show me your super sword skills before I get scared and back out.”

“Who’s the baby here?” He listens, though, looking ‘round the room before he pulls one out of the corner. “Alright, keep up,” and with that he’s out the door, leading him to the stairwell at the end of the hall and up a few flights to the top.

John blindly bumps into him when he stops to kick open the door to the roof, babbling an apology and immediately looking up over his shoulder. Dave just shrugs him off, grabbing a rock  he keeps nearby to keep the door open. “Tada. See, even there’s the flamingo!” It’s pretty much like any normal roof, minus the flamingo and home-made practice dummy in the middle. John wanders past him, to the edge of the building. There’s a wall a few feet high that he puts his hands on, leaning over just a bit to look down.

“Holy shit,” the breeze carries his voice to Dave, otherwise it would be hard to hear him. “This is fucking awesome.”

“Yeah, just do me a favor and stay behind that wall.” He ignores him in favor of starting his stretches, shuddering in the cold air. At least it’s pretty cloudy out. He’s glad, actually, that John’s not looking at him, because he looks like an idiot half bent over and twisting his arms behind his head.

He doesn’t move away from the view though, so eventually Dave creeps up behind him, not even thinking about it as he leans close and whispers, “Boo,” in his ear.

John yelps, flinching away from Dave- which puts him leaning even farther over the wall. He turns around fast, laughing. “Dick! What was that for?” Dave pulls him forward by the shoulders, stepping back to avoid any uncomfortably physical situations.

“Careful! And you weren’t paying attention.” He sounds less laid back than he means to, letting go of him quick. “Anyways, ready?”

“Yep,” John smooths down his shirt. “I am ready to be wooed by your awesome fighting.”

“Sweet.” He turns and walks back towards the door, going over a quick plan. It’s a little weird at first, doing this for an audience, and he almost falters before he forgets about John and just focuses on his sword. It’s also hard, though, he’s nervous he’s going to fuck up and trip and stab himself in the chest (who knows, it’s happened).

He goes through the usual moves, slashing at air, twisting, turning, lunging. It’s weird doing this in the cold-his body wants to freeze up, and it’s uncomfortable when he starts sweating. Sometimes he goes for the dummy, and his crowning moment is when he back flips over it, slicing a line through the tattered pillow making up its chest. It’s his ending, too, because once he lands he _has_ to take a minute to breathe.

Whenever he glances to John, he finds him standing perfectly still with his arms across his chest. His eyebrows are pulled together and his gaze is fixed intently on Dave; he can’t tell exactly what John is feeling, which is a little weird since he was usually an open book. He tries to brush it off and ambles closer to John so he can talk to him, lowering his sword. “It looks better with an opponent, honestly. It’s kinda like dancing; weird without a partner.” On second thought, he just compared himself to a dancer, and no thank you.

John drops his arms and shoves his hands in his pockets, probably trying to get warm. He  doesn’t look as (annoyed?) brooding, now, actually managing a small smile. He still looks goofy as all hell with the furry atrocity on either side of his face. “I’m sure it would. That was incredible enough by itself, though, especially that back flip!”

“Thanks,” he shivers. He can feel his sweat getting cold fast and it’s both gross and really uncomfortable. “Starting to regret that, I need a hot shower ASAP, come on.” He grabs John’s arm to tug him along, dropping it after a moment.

* * *

After Dave’s impromptu, impressive, and slightly arousing- although he’d never admit that out loud- display of his swordsmanship, John has an impossibly higher admiration for the other boy. He had watched all of Dave’s movements closely, focusing all of his attention on him and what he was doing. His gaze had often flicked between his body, the glinting sword and the damage it left, and his face. He couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but John could definitely see the concentrated furrow of his brow, the tightness in his lips as he worked. It was a bit obvious that he was showing off for his audience, but John was still impressed to hell and back, and if Dave had made any mistakes, they were unnoticeable. The ending had been particularly surprising for him, probably the thing he was least expecting, and he couldn’t help but _stare_ as Dave had stood there, red-faced and panting at him through the ghost of a grin.

In fact, John’s mind still isn’t completely clear of that image, even now as they’re heading back up the stairwells to Dave’s apartment. He thinks Dave is in the middle of saying something (maybe a complaint about how cold it was, even in these smelly, dusty stairwells) when he interrupts him. “That was _really_ cool. I mean, I know I’ve said that already, but seriously. That was awesome. I’d love to see it again, one day. Only if you want to, though, but if it ever comes up again, count me in.”

He starts falling just a little more behind Dave on the stairs, grateful he can’t see the embarrassed flush on his face- that is, until he turns onto the next flight before John, and is now roughly above him. His face is still flushed, too. “Will do. There’s a, uh, gathering in March, more like a tournament I guess, Dirk and I always go to.”

A tournament? “That sounds unbelievably dweeby, but also pretty cool. Where is it?”

“Annnd with that you are never finding out.”

John skips a few steps to fall beside him. “Hey, come on! I want to see it.”

Dave doesn’t stop looking straight ahead. “Nope.”

John bumps an elbow into him. “Please. I wanna see more of that.”

“Shouldn’t have called it dweeby Egbert.” He bumps his elbow back, harder.

He’s whining now, quietly desperate. “Pleeease? I’m not lying, I really loved that. Weapons and just fighting in general scares the shit out of me, but I don’t think it’d be so bad if you were the one I was watching.”

Dave caves, mutters, “Alright, fine.” They’re just a few more steps back to his apartment then and John waits patiently for Dave to unlock the door and let them in. He trails behind him, closing the door behind him. When it clicks he can feel it shutting out both the cold air and any comfort they had managed to gather in their situation. Unsure really of what to do, he pulls his earmuffs back down to his neck and looks to Dave for guidance. “I guess I’ll just chill out here while you shower?”

Dave just barely nods. “It’s that or leaving, and let me guess, that’s an immediate no.”

He starts to open his mouth to protest, that no, he can go home if he really needs to, it’s not a big deal. But Rose’s advice is tapping incessantly at the back of his mind, so with some unease that he feels he hides decently, he nods. “Yep. Sorry, bub, you’re stuck with me for the afternoon.” Unexpectedly, Dave smiles.

“Get comfy then. Snoop around, I don’t give a shit, the worst thing you’ll find is my porn and honestly, I hope you do,” he teases. John scrunches up his nose at him but rolls his eyes and makes himself comfortable on the almost-familiar couch as instructed.

“I’m a little nervous to ask why,” he jokes back. Dave laughs and then John can’t see him anymore, already in the bathroom.

Given the opportunity to stay, John gladly starts walking around Dave’s apartment, noticing little things he hadn’t before. The spice shakers on the kitchen counter are tiny little robots, and the two for salt and pepper on the table are also tiny robots, just a little bigger. They are still tiny compared to John, and if the need arose, he could easily overpower them. Despite living in New York City, Dave doesn’t seem to have a coat rack, but there is a hall closet a couple feet away from the bathroom. John pokes his head in there, only to find mostly tops hung up- winter coats, dress coats, hoodies and light jackets, a couple dress shirts- and stacks of boxes, some open and some closed, on the floor. Dave’s probably still not done moving in, he realizes idly as he closes the door and heads back out to the living room. Along with the swords on the walls and the darkened, covered windows, the walls are also filled with framed photographs blown up to be several feet long. Most of them are scenery, but there’s a small framed one sitting on a shelf, what looks like a quick shot of Rose curled up outside somewhere, holding a book. He looks at it for a few moments, wondering if there are any matching ones in Rose’s apartment (that he hasn’t seen yet- he had seen snaps of Dave around, but nothing this professional looking).

He has to resist the urge to poke around on the large stereo system on the side wall of the living room, wires travelling back through the hallway, to the speakers in Dave’s room. He kind of wants to play music, but for one he doesn’t know how to operate this, and for two, he doesn’t know how loud it’s set and he doesn’t want to startle himself. He also doesn’t even know what kind of music Dave has, or listens to. John continues to wander around the apartment, reluctantly heading into the kitchen, ignoring any little nagging memories in his mind.

Most of the counters are actually clear for the most part. The coffee maker looks old as shit and beat-up (“well-loved,” Dave would probably argue), the dishwasher is brand-new, the fridge is full of sticky notes, more photos, reminders, lists. He doesn’t take the time to read them, still poking around. There are still dishes in the sink, although not very many. Upon closer inspection, it’s just a few bowls- four?- and a lot of utensils. John glances towards the hallway and stands still, listening. The shower’s still running, so he might as well. The dishwasher is empty already so John just rinses the dishes quickly and puts them away, idling around the room again.

He spots a black case in the darkest corner of the living room, and with a grin, he approaches it. He recognizes it quickly enough- Dave’s violin. With a new excitement John sits down on the floor and tugs the case closer, laying it down and unlocking it. The wood is a dark, rich color in this lighting, and John delicately touches it. The belly is smooth under his fingertips, the strings are thin and sharp, and the curl in the scroll is particularly fun to trace. As well as the purfling on the sides, the pretty, dark brown design carved into the instrument. John actually can’t stop touching it, so he gingerly lifts it from the case and holds it in his hands.

He’s much more comfortable with this between his fingers than he is a three-foot-long blade. The urge to turn it around and look at the back overtakes him, though he knows there’s nothing on the back, just wood. However, there is something on this one, John can feel it as he’s sliding his hands across the instrument. He turns the violin in his hands until he can see it better.

The light is reflecting off of it in a soft, comforting way, but it’s broken up around the bottom, near the knob on the end, by some scratches. At first glance they look accidental, but the longer John looks at it the more he can see the deliberate, careful scrapes. They’re small, maybe half an inch long, and there are eight of them. He can’t help but wonder what those are about.

* * *

He feels so much better when he’s getting out of the shower. Partly because he’s clean, partly because he’s not in his shower anymore. Because in the shower he’s a lot worse at stopping annoying thoughts, such as the fact that he trusts John enough to openly invite him to look around _and touch_ his stuff. Usually he’s pretty anal about that, but, well. There’s a good chance Dirk rubbed off on him with all the paranoia-okay, he definitely rubbed off on him, practically fucking smothered him-but still.

Once he’s out, though, he can quiet his head. _John is your friend, it’s okay to trust him a little. There isn’t even anything he could find that would bother you, so shut up._ “John?” He calls it on reflex, wondering if he’s actually still here. Stubborn asshat.

He hears a “Yeah?” from the living room so he follows it, and finds him sitting on the floor, criss-cross-applesauce, holding his violin and just putting it back in the case, it looks like. “How was your shower?” Huh? He shakes his head, slightly, staring down and frowning.

“Good. All these things to look at, and you choose the violin?” It’s supposed to sound joking but it doesn't. He hadn’t even noticed he’d forgotten to shove that back in the closet.

John frowns right back at him. “I snooped around other stuff, too! I even did your dishes for you. You’re welcome, by the way,” already he’s smiling again, before he’s even finished talking.

“Well thanks. No one ever does the dishes for me, actually, that’s incredible, you deserve a medal, best housewife ever.”

“Shut up, I’m not a housewife.” John snickers and sits up, brushing himself off. He brings the case up with him, leaning it back against the wall. Dave watches it more than him. “Can I ask a question about you violin, though?”

His mind scrambles to think of something John would ask-the maker, where he got it, there’s plenty of innocent questions. He’s totally putting off answering. _Thank you for finding the one thing in the apartment I_ actually _didn’t want you to see._ “Yeah, sure.”

“Is that a second hand violin, or is it yours?” He’s gesturing to it as he speaks, moving his hands to explain. “I mean, because I saw a few notches on the bottom on it, on the back. I was just wondering if you made those for something special or if you got this from somebody else, because they don’t look accidental.” He looks kind of flustered. Dave would be admiring it, if he wasn’t dealing with the same melancholy he always gets from thinking about it, with an added dash of anxiety!

“Something special, I do them myself.” He’s had it since he was sixteen, after all, bought it new.

John only hums, leans against the wall next to the case, looking at it instead of him. “How long have you been doing those?”

He wants to tell him to drop it, find something else to talk about, anything. He wants to tell him everything, like he’d only ever done for his sister. “Since I was eighteen,” his voice is tight so he coughs into his hand, shuffling on his feet. John seems to pick up on his hesitation, so his voice is gentle when he speaks again.

“Can I ask what they mean?” He spends a little bit thinking about it. The only people (as far as he knows) who’d ever seen it were Rose and Dirk. He looks at John, trying to read his face, and he’s just got this gentle look, sympathetic and like he’s trying not to scare him off, all at once. He takes so long, John speaks again, “You don't have to tell me."

Rose would probably encourage it. Like it’s good for him or something, _let out your feelings, Dave, trust your friends more._ It’s not even a big secret, just. Personal. He takes John’s hand, grabs his violin with the other and pulls them both back to the couch so they can sit down. “Yeah, alright, story time.” He lets go of him soon though, opening the latch on the case so he can run his fingers over the scratches.

“My tattoo isn’t really unique. So there have been lots of people who’ve, who I thought were my soulmate, and they weren’t.” He has to take a few seconds to steel himself, pretend he doesn’t care, _why do I feel like crying this isn’t anything to cry over_. Get it all out.

“[So number one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1953600) was this girl-we date for six months, until she found her actual soulmate.” Don’t think about when she told you. Don’t. “Number two, this guy who just tells me, all gentle, he already had his soulmate. Number three was this lady, a couple years older than me, and she yelled at me on a street corner because it was disgusting, that I would even try to date anyone who wasn’t my soulmate. After that I stopped caring, I think.” Close tie for worst memory he has in his head. “Number four I never talked to, never saw again, same as six and seven. Number five is this little girl, maybe eight years old, and,” he can’t find words for how shitty it had been. Continued to be. And number eight is sitting on his couch. He coughs. “That’s why I don’t play the violin anymore- not for other people, not in public. Unless I’m broke and starving.” He'd always thought there was something wrong with him, because none of them felt just right but they _had_ to be it, and he went through so much denial, trusting them because he had to. It was supposed to be amazing when you found your soulmate, you were supposed to _know_ , but he never could.

He doesn’t really want to look at him. He’s actually pretty afraid he’s managed to scare him off.

Neither of them move for an afterlife and a half, until John scoots just that much closer and grabs Dave, tugging him forward into a hug.

Dave is unbalanced, in more ways than one.

He’s not holding him tightly; pretty loosely in fact, just resting his arms around him, forearms across his back. After a few seconds Dave relaxes, folding one arm around his neck and leaning into him, thinking enough to push his glasses into his hair so he doesn’t accidentally stab himself in the eye. He’s grateful for it, honestly. That John’s not freaking out, or leaving, or (hopefully) pitying him. He needs the hug and he really doesn’t want to let go. The more he responds the tighter he’s held, but it’s never a squeeze, never uncomfortable. John’s hand eventually starts rubbing small circles into his back, and he murmurs quietly into his ear, voice shaking just slightly. “You’ll find them one day. It could be years from now, or they could be right in front of you.”

It makes him laugh a little, thinking of the irony of it, and it’s enough to get him to nod and pull back. “Thanks.” He wipes at his eyes under the guise of fixing his glasses. Slowly, John reaches towards one of his hands, looking Dave straight in the face, as if asking for permission before touching him again. He twitches in a nod, smiling a little because that was almost cute.

As soon as John’s fingers interlace with his own, they’re suddenly the most fascinating things, and John can’t keep his eyes off of them. He’s quiet for another few moments. “I saw it,” he blurts out. “Your tattoo, I mean. When you were washing your face a couple weeks ago and changing. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been looking in the first place, but I read it before I could even register what it was and wow, that was so disrespectful and rude of me, I’m really sorry. I won’t tell anybody, but I understand if you like, don’t want to talk to me anymore, after everything, I would get it. I’m just really sorry I never spoke up until now and that I even saw it.”

He stares at him, wishing he would stop staring at their hands. “You saw my tattoo?” And he’d never said anything. Did he even know he was number eight? Probably not, then. Why would he remember what he’d said to Dave, why would it matter? Because Dave’s words didn’t matter. They’re not soulmates-John would have said something. Anything.

It makes him realize how much he was hoping that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong. That things were just weird, and they really were made for each other, because John fit with him in a way no one else had. He always felt better when he was around, always; calmer, happier, whatever.  But no, that couldn’t be true. It was just because John was a great guy, Dave’s friend, _not his soulmate._

He doesn’t realize he’s squeezing John’s hand until John taps the back of his with his free one. “Um, y-yeah, I did. Are you… Okay, Dave? I’m sorry I didn’t mention anything earlier, if that’s what the problem is.” He lets go immediately, smooths his hands over his jeans, takes a deep breath. _You’ve survived worse. Come on._

“Yeah, it’s fine, I’m fine. Really, dude, doesn’t even matter. I’m flattered actually! And kind of proud, staring at me in the shower, what happened to good little John?” John looks half-confused and half-suspicious for a very long moment before offering up a little laugh.

“Heh, yeah. Kind of hard to be the picture-perfect angel boy around you, though.” His hands are folded in his lap now. His violin- he never noticed, John had taken it from him earlier, it’s sitting on the floor now. He could just step on it, break the neck. Could. He needs to get rid of John so he can try to breathe again.

“I’m glad.” He glances up at the clock and it’s not late enough, he has no excuse, doesn’t even have anything to say. So, they sit in heavy silence until John speaks up.

“Did you, um. Did you want to see mine? Just so we’re even, or whatever, I don’t- mind, I honestly don’t.” His voice is soft, nervous, and he doesn’t seem to be able to figure out where to look. Dave shakes his head.

“No, thanks. I kinda just want to forget about it.” John makes this _tiny_ sound, like a whine, and nods.

“Yeah, alright. I’m sorry I brought it up, but, uh, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that.”

Trust. It kept coming back to that. “Sure. Thanks for listening, I guess.” He wants another hug, but his -self-destructive tendencies- mind steps in, _what’s the point don’t push it you shouldn’t like him anymore just stop_. He still doesn’t know what the fuck to talk about.

“Did you have a good Halloween?”

They talk about stupid shit for an hour, sitting out on his couch, and eventually Dave is forced to relax and just focus on the moment. It works pretty well, all things considered. John still seems kind of suspicious, probably because Dave’s still acting weird, hiding behind his old flat face, flat voice just to survive. They manage a bit of their former easiness, though, gradually venturing closer. John keeps things light, rambling on about whatever crosses his mind so Dave doesn’t have to talk and it makes him light up with affection for the idiot, so much so that he finds himself smiling softly and when John catches it, he gives this great big bucktoothed grin and bumps shoulders with him.

He gets rid of him eventually, claiming he had shit to study for, and once he’s alone he actually doesn’t feel as shitty as earlier. It’s a kick in the gut, but he’s Dave Strider, he can get over anything. Even unrequited love.

* * *

It all made so much sense.

Suddenly John’s thinking over every encounter he’s ever had with Dave, not even for the first time, but for a whole different reason; to examine everything with this new information, the fact that Dave had presumably been through this same shit with _seven other people_. Oh god, his heart has just been aching for Dave since the second he had opened up to him.

He hadn’t been lying when he said he was thankful Dave shared those stories with him. He had spent days, almost two weeks worrying about whether or not he and Dave were ever going to regain the sense of trust and companionship they had had before The Kitchen Incident, but now that he had confessed to seeing Dave’s tattoo and understood why he would have kept it a secret, he didn’t quite feel so guilty whenever he was around him.

All he really wanted to do now was just _tell him_ , because at this point, he knew with every cell and every nerve in his body that Dave was his soulmate.

John, at this point, can say honestly that he wants nothing more in his life than just to have Dave by his side, except maybe a college degree and a steady source of income. But that’s it! That’s all he needs to survive, because for some reason- John has a sneaking suspicion for this, although he still isn’t sure if he’s quite ready to admit it yet- everything he feels is just amplified around Dave. Especially his feelings for him. He’s pretty head-over-heels for him alone, but whenever they’re together, he feels almost indisputably _in love with him_.

That thought scares him, but not enough to deter him. It’s a good kind of fear, though, one that makes him want to shoot forward, barrel right into what frightens him, maybe it won't be so bad once he's got the thing in his embrace, once he's in control of himself in the situation, able to appropriately react to and deal with anything that comes his way.

That had been a few days ago. Since then, they had spent much more talking, and had even met up once- Dave had stopped by the diner again, that afternoon planned instead of spontaneous, had barely flirted with Rez again, and then it was off to another walk around the area. They didn’t end up at the park with a fountain again, but a little comic book shop tucked into a tiny, worn-down building. The entire thing was maybe half the size of Dave’s apartment but they had found it easy enough to waste hours in it, getting excited over knickknacks, reminiscing over old stories they had found from their childhoods. John had always had a soft spot for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comics and Mario Brothers based games, where Dave had been a bigger fan of X-Men graphic novels and generally Sonic-themed entertainment. They both agreed that there were things in Superman and in Kurt Busiek’s Astro City that could have been done a little better, that Crash Bandicoot was the shit when they were bored preteens, and that compared to today’s gaming system, the PSP was a complete piece of shit.

TG: okay but how can you not like pizza   
TG: like how is that physically a thing that happens   
EB: i don’t know, man!   
EB: it’s usually just super greasy and gives me a tummy-ache.  
EB: not like i have gas or anything, i just feel really sick.   
TG: clearly god hates you   
TG: dont you just fucking love prep for finals   
TG: like forty pages of deep literary analysis of this book literally no ones heard of?! great! count me in!   
EB: wow, look at you! using punctuation and everything. you must be pretty peeved about finals.   
TG: exclamation points dont count you empty shampoo bottle   
TG: i use them all the time   
EB: cute.   
EB: i can’t say i blame you, though. taking finals suck, prepping for finals sucks, and studying for finals suuuucks.   
TG: yes thank you for the sympathy   
TG: here i was expecting you to be a dick but sometimes you surprise me!   
EB: i do my best.   
EB: when are yours happening?   
TG: fuck if i know   
TG: sometime next month? who cares   
EB: yeah, mine too. i can’t wait until they’re over, though, then it will be christmas!   
EB: speaking of holidays, actually, what are you doing for thanksgiving?   
TG: well we usually do annual dinner at moms house but its looking like thats not happening   
TG: family drama   
TG: so probably hiding out over here   
TG: you?   
EB: my roommate and i had made tentative plans to cook together, but i think he’s doing something with his girlfriend.   
EB: which leaves me at home by myself, so i’ll probably just order chinese or something.   
EB: not really much of a point to celebrating thanksgiving alone, huh? heh.   
TG: we could always hang out   
EB: you sure?   
TG: yeah unless youd rather not   
TG: i dont actually want to spend thanksgiving alone shits sad   
EB: no, i would love to! i just didn’t want to seem pushy or desperate, you know.   
EB: i am not either of those things!   
EB: besides, we couldn’t hang out on halloween, and i’m going to be in washington for christmas, so we might not be able to see each other again otherwise.   
TG: shit   
TG: then im definitely kidnapping you   
TG: lonely bachelors thanksgiving lets do this we can get like deli turkey and make sandwiches   
EB: whaaaat? dude, that’s lame.   
EB: how do you feel about having like a week’s worth of leftovers?   
TG: im a college kid how do you think i feel   
EB: same here.   
EB: i have been saving up money for a few weeks for this, i’ll just buy a fresh-cooked turkey from the store and then make everything else!   
TG: oh hell no   
TG: one   
TG: no i cant even communicate how much no i have to say   
TG: time for a no sandwich shoved down your throat   
TG: one   
TG: you are not spending all your money on a shitty thanksgiving feast between the two of us   
TG: we cant even eat that much   
TG: so if theres a turkey its gonna be a small turkey   
TG: and i will help you buy and cook shit because believe it or not i can cook   
EB: geez, alright! i have my own stupid list to throw back at you anyways.   
EB: one: please don’t shove anything down my throat.   
TG: marking breath play off the list   
EB: wow! shut up.   
TG: okay but what about the other way around   
EB: i’m not answering that.   
TG: but its an important question!   
EB: two: that would not be all of my money. just what i’ve been saving for it.   
EB: three: i might eat like a sloth but i can put away a lot of food! you are right though, we can’t eat that much. even if we’re a couple of college guys.   
EB: four: i can buy the food, it doesn’t matter to me. i’ll let you cook with me but spending money is where i put my foot down sir!   
TG: look at all the shits i dont give   
TG: look at them john   
TG: theres so many   
TG: there is a confirmed metric fuckton of shits i do not give   
TG: save your money for other stuff dumbass   
EB: fine. you buy the food, let me do the cooking, and i can save my money for rose’s birthday present.   
EB: that is december fourth, right?   
TG: uh huh   
EB: wait, hold on.   
EB: if rose’s birthday is december fourth, and you guys are twins…   
TG: im gonna stop you right there   
TG: thanksgiving john   
TG: think about thanksgiving   
EB: your birthday too, dave!   
EB: crap, i need to get you something.   
EB: ok, i’ll think about thanksgiving, but also your present. but mostly thanksgiving.   
TG: hell you are   
TG: and anyways my birthday is technically december third funnily enough   
TG: we cant really go get food the day before so why dont you tell me what we need and we can split the list   
EB: let me get back to you on that? i’ll need to sit down and write everything out.   
TG: okay but no cheating im serious   
TG: and then you can come over like the day before and well start cooking all this shit itll be fun ill buy beer   
TG: just dont tell rose youre coming over   
EB: oh?   
TG: please?   
EB: yeah, sure. i’ll keep it under wraps!   
EB: it’s not like she reads my diary or anything.   
TG: you have a diary   
EB: of course. it has pink and purple pages and i write in it with gel pens i saved from the nineties.   
EB: you mean to say you don’t have that?   
TG: i cant even tell if youre being serious   
TG: annd i gotta go get back to me with that list though!   
EB: sure thing. talk to you later!   
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay’s notes: so basically out of all the chapters we already written i have three favorites right??? chapter four, THIS ONE, and chapter nine. i just love everything about this chapter ok i just really love it a lot i hope u guys liked it too!! with every chapter we write and every day of progress we get through i get happier that there’s more to the story but sadder bc the fic is almost over. but u guys get to look forward to a HELLUVA LOT MORE AWESOME SHIT in the future!!!!!! thank you so much for reading and remember to leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed uwu;


	8. Darling I Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving Part One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee’s notes: /sighs/ we got about halfway through chapter nine and realized what we had planned wasn’t working in the least, so we had to scrap that and go in a different direction, then re-write about half of this chapter. It turned out better in the end though-the tickling scene wasn’t in the original draft at all, and it’s great, so I’m glad. Also chapter nine has turned into pure, teeth-rotting fluff. Pretty much the rest of the fic is like that actually. Like, this is a romance fic through and through, the entire plot is centered on building their relationship and they’ve passed every hurdle, we just gotta tie up some loose ends (which isn’t to say the next chapters won’t be exciting, we still have THE BIG REVEAL, just that it won’t be very angsty.) Finally, I’ll be posting the old draft of chapter nine on tumblr when that comes out if anyone wants to read it.  
> And since so many people are curious (I mean, I know I would be) I wanted to explain what Shay and I have gone over a hundred times: John cannot show Dave his tattoo until they’re in a stable relationship. If he were to tell Dave at this point, right now-well, it’d be better than before, but Dave would freak out and everything would get very uncomfortable. If John waits until Dave trusts him more then Dave won’t have such a problem accepting it and everything is hunky-dory (and actually kind of anticlimactic :D) (because seriously, if John had told Dave they were soulmates in the FIRST CHAPTER, like we originally planned way back in the roleplay, they would have had this huge fight and John would spend the entire fic thinking Dave was an enormous asshole).  
> ....WE ARE VERY INDECISIVE ABOUT NAMES OKAY

Dave and John talk a few more times before Thanksgiving, discussing their respective cooking abilities (John’s being much better than Dave’s) and what he needs to buy. The list is pretty short because they don’t want to make too much food, and Dave grills him all the time to make sure John is being honest but he insists that that’s half the list. He still has more groceries than him when he comes over the day before.

He comes over at two and Dave had been looking forward to it, but once he arrived he was feeling pretty different. He’s trying to get over John, stop thinking about him so much, but every time he sees him, all his progress goes out the window. He finds himself not minding, though, when they spend the entire day cooking together. It takes so long because they make small servings of lots of different foods, but they also spend a lot of time goofing off and making more messes.

The worst happens when they’re almost done and Dave’s surveying the kitchen for what’s left-the counters are covered in spilled ingredients and actual ingredients to be put away and food that needs put away and more food that they’ll still have to cook tomorrow morning. “You cook well and it’s delicious but it’s like a fucking food hurricane came in here. You are the food hurricane, John,” he’s muttering to himself.

“Don’t be a baby, Dave,” John replies as he stacks the shells of an egg on the counter beside the bowl he’s working with. “It’s just food, it’s not like the mess is permanent. And you say you cook, psh, it’s like you’ve never seen this before.”

“Shut up, I know cooking makes messes, I just don’t want to clean it up.” He can’t resist the urge to just lean over and poke him in the side for revenge’s sake. John swats him back without turning around, cracking a second egg one-handed. It just makes Dave smirk and do it again, harder.

“Cut that out,” John says idly, still not looking back.

“Cut what out? I’m trying to check if you’re ticklish. For science.” He pokes at him again, caught in the pure joy that comes from deliberately being annoying.

“Obviously I am not, since I’m not flinching.” His voice is just the slightest bit strained and he wipes his hands on his jeans and turns around to give Dave a disapproving look, arms crossed protectively around his belly. Unfortunately, Dave is sneaky, fast, and determined.

“I dunno. I think further tests are required,” and he pokes him again.

He can easily see how John tries to resist squirming away and it makes him even more mirthful. “There’s evidence you might be ticklish, John, which means I’ll just have to keep running tests until I can draw a conclusion.”

“That’s not how science is done.” He even goes as far as to step away from Dave, staying against the counter. “And you don’t have evidence of anything.”

He just shrugs, getting closer so he can keep poking at him, not really a full attack. Yet. “I’m not a scientist.”

“So, if you aren’t running experiments, what is your motive?” He’s trying really hard not to start laughing now, weakly batting off Dave’s attempts. It’s kind of adorable.

“No, I’m running experiments, I’m just saying I’m not a scientist, so you can’t expect it to be perfect.” He wants to actually tickle him and he’s about to, but he doesn’t notice John stretching across the counter to grab an egg and hold it up threateningly.

“Touch me and I’ll mess up your perfect hair. Don’t even try me.” He’s already snickering, little chipmunk fucker.

“Don’t you dare.” His grin falls to glare at him and he’s got the advantage of not wearing his shades, so John can _see_ him glaring. John just grins and raises his hand higher, making him flinch for a second but he just holds it there, staring him down. His eyes dart up to see if it’s worth it, and he decides the best course of action is trying to grab John’s arm and force it away from him.

Key word: trying. It doesn’t work out that way.

The fragile shell of the egg breaks as John smashes it down on his head, all-out giggling now. Egg slides fast down through his hair and it’s fucking gross and he has to close his eyes, unwilling to let this asshole go as he’s yelling at him for the egg. John’s trying to break free, but even with his surprise, he keeps a tight grip on John’s wrist.

He risks a second to let go of him, trying to wipe the egg off around his eyes so he can fucking see. John is just staring at him with wide eyes, hand muffling the wheezy “Oh my god” and “Let me go”s coming out of him.

“You are paying for that!” He means figuratively, of course. He gets egg all over his shirt but it’s worth it to open his eyes and see the panic on John’s face before he grabs him by the shoulders and pulls to the side so Egbert ends up on the floor, yelling all the way, and Dave can crouch over him. He intends to tickle him for real now, preferably until he cries (he doesn’t actually want to hurt him but he is actually a little pissed off about his hair). John’s just squealing and laughing, wiggling around under him and trying to push himself along the ground to get away.

“No, no! Come on, I’m sorry, let me go!” The plea is broken, interrupted between ( ~~cute~~ hilarious) snorts and deep breaths. Dave has no sympathy. He goes for his sides again, trying to shove his arms away with one hand and tickle with the other, laughing along because it’s infectious.

John swoops his arm around, shoving at his side, and then he’s losing his balance and toppling to the ground. Before he can right himself again John is swinging a leg over his and straddling him, tickling his sides in revenge.

Dave, unfortunately, is extremely ticklish.

He hoped it would never be revealed but the second John so much as touches his sides he’s screeching with laughter, squirming and laughing and yelling and trying to breathe all at once. Occasionally he can get a word out, usually “FUCK” or “NO NO NO STOOOP” but mostly he’s laughing, red-faced and hoping he doesn’t start crying.

John does let up eventually and sits on his knees. He’s just grinning victoriously down at him. “You fucking bluffer.” Dave doesn’t have a reply for him, head turned to the side as he takes in deep breaths, pouty and embarrassed. He covers his stomach in vain, hoping he doesn’t get tickled anymore. “God, I mean. I knew you were cute, but this? This is just heart-wrenchingly adorable. That is definitely being saved as one of my favorite memories.”

Dave flips him off. “Get off me.” He’s sulky and he’s not afraid to admit it-he’s got egg in his hair and there’s an insufferable, irresistible asshole on top of him and his weakness has been discovered and he _knows_ John is gonna use it against him every chance he gets.

John just scoffs, still smiling, and climbs off of him. “Go shower, dude. I”ll clean up the kitchen.” He’s totally fine with this, ignoring the hand John offers to help him up and slinking off.

When he comes back out, hair combed and damp and donning a new shirt, John is just standing in the middle of the mostly-cleaned kitchen, giving him the most intent puppy eyes he has ever seen. “I’m sorry I dumped an egg in your hair and then tickled you a lot.”

Dave hopes the alarm doesn’t show on his face, and then he settles for glaring at him all the more. “Fuck you for being so cute, I’m trying to be mad here.”

“I’m not being cute, I am apologizing.”

“You’re giving me puppy dog eyes.” He will not bend for this!...Who’s he kidding he’s already faltered, just trying to keep up the ruse. His eyes are way too blue.

He gets a weird look. “These are my normal eyes. Just apologetic and regretful.”

He is so full of bullshit. “Fine, whatever, just don’t tickle me again.”

“No promises, that was precious. Anyway, could you pick up some milk? We don’t have any left and I need it for this banana bread. Unless you want to go without banana bread. In which case, I don’t know why I’m still here.”

He sighs, resists the urge to grumble and reminds himself that if John ever tries that again, he can grab one of his swords and Egbert will run with his tail between his legs. “Sure, be just a few.” Well, he didn’t promise he’d be cheery. He’d be back to normal by the time he was back, anyways, so he grabs his shoes. John calls out his thanks behind him as he leaves his apartment.

Everything’s done cooking and cleaned up by nine and then all they have to do is drink cheap beer. It’s apparently a rule now that they only drink in Dave’s bed, because that’s where they settle down once again. It’s a nice end to the day, when they’re both tired.

He decides to nurse his drink and tell a story, watching John behind his shades. “So, the first time we do this we’re maybe ten, we spend a week plotting it and then one morning we get up and I put on a skirt and Rose put on this shirt I wore at least twice a week and we went to school pretending to be each other, going to different classes and everything. Like, I just stayed quiet mostly but every time I was called on I would say the most pretentious thing I could think of, while I’m pretty sure Rose always said the wrong answer because she’s mean like that. We even thought we’d fooled mom but of course she knew the whole time- she just wanted to laugh at us.”

John has been stretched out across his covers listening to him almost the entire time they had been in his room. He’d spent a few minutes trying to make his bed while John was busy, but it was a little wrinkled up anyways, and John's body was tucked between the folds in the fabric, completely facing Dave aside from one leg, which was extended across the bed, close to one of Dave's own. He laughs at the story, cheeks smushing up, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He almost says, out loud, that that’s adorable. "I guess it’s true that there are some perks to having a twin with the same haircut as you. Although now, I'm curious; what was the shirt you wore that often?"

“Ah, it was this kick-ass thing, bright red sleeves and a pixelized record on the front, I wore it _all the time_. Like, every day for the first two weeks I had it, until Mom threatened to throw it out.” He gestures as he talks, though not as much as John.

“I had a shirt like that too,” he admits. “Don’t laugh- it was Ghostbusters.”

He has to cover his grin with his hand. “Ghostbusters?”

John’s reaching out to paw at his leg, snickering. “I said don’t laugh! I was a weird kid, alright, obsessed with dumb shows and awful movies-”

“You’re still obsessed with dumb shows and awful movies.” John just stops and gives him a look, face all scrunched up, and flops back onto the bed. Dave grins.

“You’re meeean.”

“I’m honest.”

“Sometimes it is better to leave some things unsaid!” John rises up onto one elbow, finishing off his beer, leaning back exaggeratedly to get the last of it. “This is empty now.”

Dave stares at him, eyebrows quirked. “You have this penchant for saying obvious things. Am I supposed to do something about that?”

“Do I really? Anyway, the real question here is, am _I_? I don’t know what to do with this, but I don’t want to just leave it laying around.”

It’s a shame John can’t tell he’s rolling his eyes right now. “Set it on the floor, doofus.”

There’s a soft clink as the bottle is set on the floor and John stretches out again, folding his arms under his head. He’s watching Dave again, and his glasses are pushed up weirdly from his arm. He stays silent until Dave pipes up, “There’s more beer if you want some.”

“Mmm, I’m alright for now. Thank you though.” He nods, tipping back the rest of his drink as well.

It’s pretty comfortable, all things considered. When he’s bored he initiates a staring contest, which John doesn’t really know about, so Dave wins. “Do you have any good music we could listen to?”

Oh, he’s got this. “Hell yeah! What’re you in the mood for? I mean, it’s mostly dub step, but there’s some other shit too.”

“Something kinda slow or soft, whatever. Heh, is there any dub step like that?”

He thinks about it for a minute. “I’ve got just the thing.” He’s almost a little nervous as he rolls to his feet, moving to the living room and turning on his laptop, already hooked up to the stereo. He already has the playlist, just has to bring it up, and then violin starts playing throughout the apartment-his violin, to be exact, a little song he uses as an overture. He’s smiling to himself as he walks back to his room. “So?”

John’s sitting up on the middle of his bed, legs crossed. The soft light from the window, curtains pulled back because the sun had set already, casts gentle shadows across his face as he shifts around. “This is really nice.”

It makes him smile even more as he sits down. “Glad you like it, seeing as it’s mine.”

“This is you playing?” He nods.

“Some of it’s Rose, some of it’s both of us, this song is actually both.” He’d wanted to play it alone when he learned it, but it sounded a lot better with two violins.

“It’s nice,” he repeats with a hum. After some consideration, Dave crawls over his legs to get off the bed on his side, offering a hand.

“What do you say to a dance?”

John smiles, reaches out to take his hand, standing and stepping up close to him. “You’re going to have to remind me where to put my hands, it has been a while since I’ve done this.”

He smiles. “I can do that. Come on,” he takes his hand and sets it on his shoulder, grabbing the other ballroom-style. He starts swaying with him to the music, honestly happy. “I haven’t danced in so long, jesus.”

John’s got this soft little smirk on his face as he stares up at Dave. “Me neither. Well, I haven’t followed in a long time. Since I was like eight, actually, and my dad was teaching me in the backyard.” He laughs at the mental image.

“I’ve never seen your baby pictures, that needs to change.”

“Maybe one day,” John murmurs as they start to sway along with the music. He’s doing a pretty good job of not stepping on Dave’s feet, at least for not having danced in twelve years. For Dave, it’s been more like three-last time he remembers is senior prom. They’re standing pretty close together and it makes his heart beat faster. God, he hopes he’s not blushing.

The song changes then, to one of his pieces, violin weaved with a bassline and some parts that are completely synthesized. It’s one of his favorites, but he doesn’t know how to dance to it. “I don’t think this is going to work,” he laughs.

With a quiet sigh John reluctantly stills, although he doesn’t step away or let go. “Did you make this song too?”

“Yuuup. It was fun, at least,” he smiles for him. Wait, wait, he’s got this. He takes the hand he’s got in his and kisses the back of it before letting go, smirking juuust a tad as he dips his head in a half-bow.

John huffs out a giggle, covering it with his now-free hand. He raises an eyebrow at Dave as he kisses his hand where Dave’s lips had just been. Jesus, that’s. “You didn’t even spin me. How will I ever believe you’re a true gentleman now?”

“Oh shit, I didn’t! Won’t you give me another chance? Let me fix my mistakes?” He returns his hand to John’s lower back and pulls him closer.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t stumble as he’s tugged. “I might have it in my heart to forgive you,” he laughs. They link their other hands again and if Dave mostly ignores the music he can work with it, moving him in another dance and working in a spin or two, where John twirls happily. He waits until the climax of the song to dip him, grinning. He thinks this is where they’re supposed to kiss, and fuck if he doesn’t want to. “Happy?” His shades slip down his nose a little. John tightens his grip on his shoulder and lets go of his hand, only to push them back up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’s going to burst, smiling that big.

“Elated.”

* * *

They’re finished dancing after that. Dave gets them both some water and they go back to his bed, Dave much more affectionate for some reason. When they lay down he shoves John until he’s satisfied with how he’s sitting then lays on his legs. It just makes him want to run his hands through his hair, maybe kiss a little until he dozes off. He’s had just enough to drink that he’s warm from the inside out, but his fingertips are still cold. So he maybe indulges himself a little and starts playing with Dave’s hair, but of course it doesn’t mean anything. He’s just trying to keep warm. _It definitely means something._

He has to do something. Kiss him, show him, tell him, just something to make his lungs work properly again, so he isn’t fighting against shallow breaths every time Dave even looked his way.

Dave had taken his shades off and his eyes were closed now. He looks kind of like a cat, like he would be purring if he could. So he just continues twisting little clumps of hair around his fingers, parting his hair in every way he could, just to watch it fall back to the natural cut. He has to say it, he feels like he’s choking, like he can’t breathe unless he gets these words unstuck from his throat.

“Dave,” he starts softly, speaking into the dark room. Fuck, he can feel his hands start shaking, prays that Dave doesn’t. He gets a soft grunt in reply. At least he’s awake. John swallows hard and looks down at the sheets on Dave’s bed, hiding the flush on his face that Dave wouldn’t be able to see even if he was looking at him. “I, um.” God, this is so fucking difficult, why is this so hard, it shouldn’t be like this. _Just say it, John, it’s just three words, three meaningless words you say dozens of times on a daily basis. Just put them together. Just put them together and say them._ “I like you. A bunch. In a friendly way but also really, really not.” _There.That wasn’t that hard, was it?_ He waits nervously for Dave’s reply, regretfully opening his mouth again when it doesn’t come fast enough. “I mean, I’m always thinking about you, you know? I can’t sleep, I can’t focus in school, or at work. I’m just this frazzled mess everywhere except when I’m with you. I just want to hold your hand and kiss you all over your face, just so you can’t leave.”

Dave sat up halfway through all this and they spend a long moment staring at each other, John trying to read his face and Dave, well, who knows. He looks surprised, but not scared or disgusted or anything, which is hopeful. He still isn’t saying anything, though, and the weight in the pit of John’s tummy starts to feel even heavier. He had to have actually fucked it up this time, there’s no other explanation for this unbearable silence, at least in his mind. “Fuck,” he swears, and it’s quiet under his breath but it’s violent. “I am so sorry, I should have just kept my mouth shut, obviously that was the wrong thing to say, I’m sorry.”

This is what finally gets Dave to say something, shaking his head fast. “John, hush.” He says it again, insistent, until he shuts up, then turns in the bed and takes his face in both hands, leaning forward so their foreheads are touching and all he can see is bright red. He actually has to cross his eyes a little. “I like you too, okay? Jesus, I just never thought it would work both ways,” he laughs softly and John can feel it, the breath of it.

His tummy flips and he feels like he’s going to throw up. Whether because he’s excited, nervous, or scared, he doesn’t know, but it’s there. “Really? You’re not just saying that because I made a fool of myself just now, right?”

“No way.” He can’t read his face from this distance but he sounds almost offended, only it doesn’t feel that way when one of his hands drops and the other curls around to his hair. “I have liked you forever. Like one day I thought, hey, maybe guys who look like chipmunks are cute, and there was no going back.”

He doesn’t look like a chipmunk, does he? “First time I’ve heard chipmunk over beaver,” he laughs softly, timidly dropping his gaze.

“Okay that was stupid but John I’m serious, okay? All that shit you said about wanting to hold on forever? Nothing compared to how much I have been pining over you it’s ridiculous-” he backs up a little, stops touching John completely. What, what is he doing? Where is he going? John glances up, suddenly worried that he scared Dave away. He’s just rubbing over his face, though, looking sort of determined.

“I don’t know how to say this, you know I’m bad with this stuff, but I am serious. I have liked you pretty much since I met you, and it’s only gotten worse to the point that I never so much as think about anything else and instead of sleeping I spend hours thinking about your smile or your eyes or how fucking amazing you are, and you know I wanted to kiss you and I _always_ want to kiss you, even when I want to punch you even more,” he just drops off there, like he’d run out of words to say.

 _I think you're my soulmate._ The words are on the tip of his tongue, a persistent itch he can't get rid of. He opens his mouth just to say it, but his throat is dry and the words just won't come out. He can't say it, not now, he has to save it. His brain is still trying to process what Dave said, repeating his words over and over in his mind, and the whole time he’s just stuck there staring at Dave dumbly as he tries to think. Coming to a decision, he swallows hard. “Me too.” It’s more of a rough, breathy laugh than it is a couple words, but they feel like the most important thing he’s ever said.

It makes Dave smile, grabbing one of his hands and squeezing it for a second. “Guess that’s that, then, everything in the open.”

John pulls away and clears his throat. “We should probably talk about this.”

“Do we have to?” Dave adopts a pout and John almost can’t resist, wants to give in just to see him smile like that again.  “I would honestly rather suck your dick right now than do any of that.”

 _Jesus Christ._ He scoffs playfully, trying to play it off, before that image gets stuck in his mind. _Fuck, fuck, not now, not for a long time._ “Pssssh,” he says, drawn-out. “I’m flattered, I really am. However, even though we don’t technically have to, we probably should talk about it. Just to… Figure things out. Set, uh, boundaries and stuff? You know, personally, I like to cuddle, but you could think that’s over the line. Things like that. Defining ‘the line.’”

“You’re gonna suck the fun out of this,” Dave groans, but he recedes. “Okay, well I’m not going to object to cuddling. Ever. Bring on the hugs.”

John grins at that; he likes cuddling, this could work out very, very well. “Me too. I’m up for any kind of cuddling pretty much anywhere. For example, though, nothing terribly close in public? Sitting close and holding hands and uh, light kisses, are okay. Maybe lap sitting too. But anything more than that is where my line is.”

He nods along. “Works for me. Feel free to, y’know, elbow me in the stomach or something if I ever go too far.”

He can do that. “Sure. Is there anything you need to clarify? I’m not sure if I have anything else, but I bet something will come up the more I think on it.”

He takes a minute, staring at the wall over John’s head. “Shit, hard to think of anything now. I’m _pretty_ cool with whatever. Like, long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” God, that’s cute. He’s blushing again, he can feel it.

“Cool,” he replies through a smile, “I’ll be sure to let you know if I’m not. Pretty much the same for you too, though.” He tilts his head, thinking, frowning at Dave. He wants to know if they should tell Rose anything, but they aren’t actually… Dating, right now, are they? He doesn’t think so, no one asked, so he’s going to assume not. They’re just… Talking. Yeah, they’re just talking, that’s what he could call it.

He idly notes that Dave’s beginning to look concerned. “Uh John?” Shit, there he goes again.

“Huh, yeah, sorry. Thinking again. Nothing important, don’t worry.” Dave raises his eyebrows like he doesn’t believe him.

“Too late. Already worrying. Tell meeee.”

"Don't whine!" John laughs, shaking his head. "Then I have to tell you. That defeats my purpose."

“Great! Jooooohn.” He whines some more, lip jutting out and everything.

He covers his own eyes and shakes his head. “Nope. That’s not gonna work on me.”

He peeks out after a few seconds when he hears Dave sigh and feels the bed move. Dave has flopped over backwards, hands covering his face. He’s so melodramatic. “Fine. Don’t tell me, I don’t care.” John lays on his stomach and crawls forward, laying his head beside Dave’s stomach.

“One day, I promise I’ll tell you all the stupid, ‘not-important’ shit I think about. Deal?” He kind of really just wants to pull Dave’s shirt up and blow a raspberry on his tummy, but he decides against it. Quickly.

It takes a minute, but he gets a muffled “...Fine.”

“Hey.” He reaches up, flicks a little piece of hair out of Dave’s face. “You’re not _actually_ mad at me, yeah? This is just the minimal booze acting, right?” Dave jerks up, uncovering his face. The reaction startles him just a bit.

“What? No, I’m not mad, I don’t even care. If it mattered you’d tell me, so.” He shrugs, then wiggles his fingers like he’s trying to get John to come hither. He’s suspicious at first but he gives, army-crawling across the bed so he’s eye-level with Dave. What does he want now? He quirks an eyebrow beside him, laying his chin in his hand, elbow on the bed.

Dave wraps his arms around his shoulders and shoves him sideways, surprising the hell out of him. It works, too, making him fall over onto his side, releasing a little squeak.  Dave grins and scoots close, arm around his torso now and wiggles down so he can lean his head up against John’s chest. “Success.”

Jesus Christ. “You’re going to kill me one day, man,” he hums. One of his hands finds itself in Dave’s hair again, toying with it gingerly, and the other rests under Dave’s arm, right on top of his ribs. Everywhere that they’re touching is warm, and the air between his stomach and Dave’s chest is hot. He even spreads his fingers out on Dave’s side so they rest between the ridges of his bones, feeling them expand with each soft, slow breath he takes. He can also feel the warm exhalation of those breaths against his chest as Dave laughs, and damn, is it soothing. There aren’t very many times in his life that he can remember being more comfortable than he is now.

Especially when Dave’s knee pushes between his, which he readily allows, hugging Dave’s leg between his own. He’s even warmer now, comfortable, so he tucks his chin over the blonde hair and snuggles him as close as he can. They stay like that, and John struggles against his drooping eyelids until he’s sure that Dave is asleep. Right before he gives in, he moves back and softly kisses Dave’s forehead, drifting off soon after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shay’s notes: i don’ teven remember wha t the hell all happened in this chapter we’ve had it written for so lONG OH MYGDO i also totally forgot until just now writing these notes that they danced in this chapter holy sHIT I LOVED THAT PART ugh ok sorry i’m done being dumb now i hope you guys enjoyed reading this!!!! not sure when nine is coming out but we’re probably going to try to finish ten first?? which means it’ll probs be a few days. nine is one of my favorite chapters aaaah


	9. Anna Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving Part Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee’s notes: hahah when we started this it was still a lot like our rp and everything was a defined line of who wrote what but now its just a goddamn team effort I write half of her parts and she writes half of mine  
> also fun fact! this is the longest chapter so far. what the fuck.  
> not much to say, really. we’re almost done here. next up is Dave’s birthday, and then, well, ;D  
> EDIT: FUCKING HELL I FORGOT here's the link to the old chapter nine draft if you're interested because the entire chapter's different from what it used to be http://renee-descartes.tumblr.com/post/94839344073/the-original-chapter-nine-for-postcard-more

When Dave wakes up it’s to the sun trying-and failing, thank god-to stream through his window, plus an Egbert wrapped around him. His mouth is gross and his head kind of hurts plus he’d slept weird so his neck is fucked, and it’s all perfect just because John is here. Because he can look at him all he wants, and scoot closer and touch him and anything, because he actually has a chance now.

So he spends a long time looking and touching. It’s not like he’s suddenly gorgeous-he was always gorgeous, even when he was just some asshole bothering him in a metro station. He was always irresistible, with the bluest eyes and stupid, messy hair he just wants to run his fingers through, and his dorky face, always honest and happy and he wants to kiss him and he probably could, if he wanted to. Maybe not while he’s sleeping though. He runs his fingers over his cheek, through his hair, breathes in the scent of him, can’t describe it but he knows it perfectly, all _John_. John just kind of murmurs and smiles in his sleep and it’s so goddamn cute, Dave smiles back.  

[It takes about another minute of gentle touches before John starts to stir.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2121975) Before doing anything else he gives a huge yawn, opening his bleary, watery eyes. He blinks “M’nin’,” he grumbles as he sleepily nuzzles Dave’s hand. It sounds a little bit like “morning,” if he rejects all rules of English pronunciation. They've been ridiculously close the whole time so he can just kind of nuzzle closer as a whole and close his eyes for a few seconds.

“Morning.” Jesus, that sounds weird. Maybe he shouldn't be talking. John just bumps his nose against his and squishes his body closer, moving like he’s still entirely asleep. Dave hums, trying to see if maybe he can get John to consciousness-at least enough that they can communicate. He’d settle for grunts and cuddles to be honest.

He gets some sort of raspy sigh back, something between a hum and a growl, but really weak and scratchy. John barely even moves. Guess he’s not getting anything. He stretches upwards to kiss him on the forehead and tries to get out of his arms. “‘M making breakfast.”

John tightens his hold, ducking his head to bury it against his chest. “Don’t want it, want you here,” he says simply, and it’s the most he’s moved and said since he’s awoken. It makes his face flame red and he’s really glad John’s too tired to look, much less care.

“Come on dude, breakfast.” It’s nice that he doesn't have to talk very loudly-even if he’s the most awake of the two, he’s pretty quiet in the mornings. Shame John isn’t awake enough to appreciate that either. He whines like a kid but lets him go, rolling over on his stomach, face smushed in the pillow. His shoulders rise slowly, and then after a moment, John makes one of the stupidest groaning noises he has ever heard and flops his arms around. Dave’s look of alarm is wasted because John isn’t looking. “What?”

It’s more muffled bullshit until John curls up where he is, squinting at Dave. “If you get up then I gotta too. I don’t want to yet.” He rolls his eyes at him, smiling, and leans forward to kiss his cheek again because he can.

“Nah, you can stay here. Breakfast will take a while anyways. Blanket?” He probably should articulate his thoughts better but talking is _hard_. John pouts pathetically but nods. He gives him one last hair ruffle, rolls off the bed and drags the blanket over him, leaving him to sleep.

First up is the bathroom, getting his shades and pissing and washing his face. It doesn’t really wake him up but he feels slightly more ready to get up and do stuff-he won’t be productive or completely awake until he showers.

He likes how the light filters into the room, so he leaves the curtains open for now. It’s a look he doesn’t usually see in his apartment but it only adds to the happy-go-lucky mood he’s cultivating. They used up most of the eggs to make deviled eggs but he has just enough for some scrambled, and he can put some fruit and shit to make it fancy. It reminds him of when he was seven and Rose and him would make Mom breakfast for mother’s day, which leads to other thoughts, and instead of dwelling on what his mom may or may not be up to, he thinks, _Hey! It’s Thanksgiving._ He gets to spend another whole day with John, and it’s already the best Thanksgiving ever.

For a second, he thinks, _god help me, I sound like a Lifetime movie. It’s too early for this._

John stumbles out some twenty minutes later, all messy hair and ruffled clothes, rubbing at his eyes. He’s not wearing his glasses and who knows where they are. He sees Dave in the kitchen and smiles sleepily, eyes still squinty. It’s adorable as fuck so he kind of smiles back, wondering what he was gonna do. He still seems mostly asleep, the buffoon.

John just shuffles over to the couch silently, curling up in the spot he always sat in. He says hello through a huge yawn and blinks slowly, watching Dave. “Wha’ time’s it?” He slurs loudly, sleepily.

Dave looks out the window and guesses, “Ten.” There’s no clock in the kitchen, but he’s always been pretty good at guessing the time. The idea of talking more is unpleasant so he stays quiet, waiting until he can afford to look away from the stove to turn on some soft music. He has this playlist that’s mostly Coldplay and Snow Patrol and it’s perfect for the morning.

John stays quiet in the living room, and when he looks over he almost looks like he’s asleep again but Dave can see him looking around. The eggs are done in another minute and he brings the plate to him, sitting beside him to slowly eat his own food.

He had perked up immensely at the plate, taking it carefully with both hands. He doesn’t even spare Dave a wide-eyed glance as he tears into it, devouring it faster than he has ever seen John eat something. He’s a little amazed, to be honest. The plate is empty within a minute and he stands up on wobbly legs. “Do you have milk?”

His body’s automatic reaction is to laugh softly. “Yeah, in the fridge.” Fucking ridiculous. John somewhat trips on his way there, his plate falling to the sink. He starts rooting around in the cabinets for a glass, and Dave has to redirect him. He ends up with a full glass of milk and back on the couch, once again squinty-eyed and slow. Dave’s only halfway through his eggs.

It all feels strangely domestic, heart-warmingly so. He wouldn’t mind having a roommate, only most people find him insufferable and he’s still pretty introverted so he gets irritable if he doesn’t get a decent amount of alone time. He spends quite a long time considering a long-term plan to get John to move in with him and decides that’s definitely happening.

Currently John’s sitting with his knees to his chest and back to the arm of the couch, cradling his drink between his chest and legs. He's leaning his shoulder into the back of the couch now, nodding off again. When Dave finishes his food he’s too lazy to get up and put it in the sink so he sets it on the floor, taking the drink from John.

John whines in protest, but “You’re gonna spill it,” is his justification. He really just hates doing anything in the morning. That goes on the floor too, and then he just curls up on his side only he can’t use John as a pillow, which is really unfortunate.

“What’re you doing?” John asks, leaning forward over his knees, poking at Dave’s head.

He doesn’t move. “Sleeping. Shhhhh.”

“You jus’ did that.”

“Shhhh.” He thinks about asking him to move his leg but he feels like it’s easier to just tug John’s leg forward. “Come on, be my pillow.”

He’s reluctant to move but it happens, gradually stretching his legs to give Dave a space to lay on. “This doesn’t seem very fair,” he grumbles, and when Dave glances up he sees him leaning openly into the back cushion, eyes closed. He smiles, even if he can’t see it.

“Something tells me you don’t care. Now go back to sleep.” He’s actually wide awake, and probably won’t go back to sleep but he does want to lay there. His glasses are digging into his face, he really needs to shower and John’s thigh does not the comfiest pillow make, but he’s pretty damn happy.

He stays there for half an hour. John actually falls back asleep, far as he can tell. It takes him that long to force himself up, taking his plate to the kitchen and grabbing some clothes for a quick shower. He’s much more awake once he’s clean, and smiles to see John still snoozing.

God, he’s cute. He know’s it’s a little creepy, but he can’t resist grabbing his digital camera. He has to kneel on the floor but it’s always worth it for one or two good shots.

It startles the shit out of him when John starts moving, grunting and stretching. He dashes for the kitchen, almost giggling nervously but he tamps it down and sighs once he’s set the camera on the counter. He wasn’t caught, just hears, “Dave?” come from the main room. He waves from behind the counter.

John pushes himself off the couch, stretching and arching his back before trotting into the kitchen to join him. He stands at the entrance, staring at Dave, and just lifts his arms expectantly. Dave stares at him, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know what that means. Are you signalling the mother ship?”

“What the hell?” John’s tone is accusatory, and it’s the clearest thing he’s said all morning. Dave is almost proud. “Hug me, idiot. It means I want a hug. How do you misinterpret this.”

“Not sure I want to hug you, you’re all hostile.” Regardless, he’s stepping closer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders because John’s the short one. “Jesus, I can just,”  he sets his head on top of John’s, laughing.

John scoffs and he can feel it against his collarbone, almost making him shiver, but he doesn’t try to move. No, he just nuzzles closer, humming. Dave stays quiet after that, playing with his hair in the back. “When’s the last time you had a haircut?”

“Eleventh grade?” He guesses, relaxing most of his weight against Dave. “I dunno.”

“You’re kidding.” That is such bullshit. “Are you even listening?” He navigates his out out from under his chin and stares at him.

“To what, you? You asked about my hair.”

“And you said eleventh grade.”

John gives him a funny look. “Is that the wrong answer?”

Guess he’s serious. He pulls him back close instead of answering, laughing softly. “Mm, you need a shower too. Your musk is pungent.” He kisses his hair before pulling away.

John sighs and nods. “Yeah, thanks, I’m glad to know. I’ll be quick and then we can do whatever we need to do.” He’s walking backwards as he’s talking, towards the bedroom again, and he bumps into the wall a couple times. He eventually makes it, passing from the bedroom to the bathroom with his overnight bag. He sends Dave a wink as he passes, and he can hear the asshole laughing as the door closes and the water turns on. What does that even mean?!

“Don’t make me come in there,” he yells through the door, though he’s mostly joking.

“Oh no, please don’t!” Is the obviously sarcastic reply. Okay, now he’s less joking. Why does he have to like such a dick?

He busies himself with getting some shit together, pulling out the turkey because they still need to cook it. John is out of the shower fairly quickly, although it seems to take him more time getting dressed than it did to shower. Dave doesn’t really want to know what he’s doing in there, especially when he hears a crash. “Uh, Dave?”

“Yeah?” He moves to the bathroom, almost opens the door before logic kicks in.

“Do you own a hairdryer, and if so, where is it?” A hair dryer. That’s what that was.

“Under the sink, dumbass.”

“Shit,” he hears the curse, muffled by the door. “Thanks, found it, I’ll be out soon.” There’s a little more clanking around until he gets the hairdryer finally set up.

He could probably try to get the turkey in the Betty Crocker-cooker-whatever, but he thinks it’s best if he waits for John, who actually knows what he’s doing and is less likely to burn down the building. _Can you even start a fire with one of these things? It’s like a giant pot that heats itself up, there’s no way it could start a fire._

Ten or fifteen minutes later, John emerges from the bathroom, dressed head to toe. His socks don’t match, one a soft purple and one lime green, peeking out from jeans a bit too long. His sweater is also too big, sleeves almost covering his fingers, collar falling a little too low around the dip in his collarbone. His hair is somewhat decently styled, poking out in a few random places, just like it always was. Like cotton candy, he thinks. Black licorice cotton candy. He maybe needs to shut up.

“I’d say you look good but to be honest you look kind of ridiculous.” Look at that, he didn’t even stutter! He’s a little conflicted though-because of the shirt he can see more of his ~~yummy~~  chest, but that’s right where he knows his tattoo is and yeah, he’s avoiding that like the plague. He can already just see one or two letters, the sharp black script and it makes his stomach twist up.

“Aww!” John whines, sounding mockingly destroyed. “I’m never going to try to dress up for you again, if you’re just going to dish stuff like that back out. God forbid we ever end up at a black-tie event.” Dave shakes his head, a little regretful even if he knows he’s joking.

“Darlin’ nooo, you look really good okay? You are the epitome of sexy, you are the incubus come to steal my virginity, you are the sexual tiger stalking the plains, need I go on?” He started out sincere but now he’s just grinning kind of devilishly at the look on John’s face, who is somewhat shocked into a momentary silence.

“I uh, wasn’t exactly trying for that one, but thank you.” He clears his throat and walks to the kitchen, poking his head in. His cheeks are still flushed. Dave kind of wants to go on. “Anyways, what are you doing in here?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Actually he probably shouldn’t have asked-he’s got the turkey and the pot thing on the counter, turkey half unwrapped and set on a plate that is way too small and it’s kind of messy and he just knows John’s gonna give him some look, like, _No, Dave. No. Let the grownups handle this._

John’s expression doesn’t quite say that, but it’s pretty close. “If I was less worried about this meal I’d have something witty to say, but I’m not, so scooch over.” He steps behind him, lightly grabs his shoulders and maneuvers him out of the way. “First things first, you gotta plug the crock pot in.” Crock pot. That’s what it’s called. “You spray the thing and I’ll wash the turkey, okay?" Yeah, yeah, he can do that. He’s totally not grumbly, John shouldn’t be so patronizing, _even if he maybe deserved it_.

The thing gets sprayed and the turkey gets washed and John tries to explain it to him but he finds it’s much more interesting to interject with the most ridiculous comments he can think of-”Did you even turn it on?” “No. Why would I do that when I could be turning you on?”

Still, he’s glad when it’s over and he can drag his date to the couch to catch the last hour of the parade. There’s barely anything left to be seen so he ends up watching John, and then John catches him and gets pink but he stares right back, even quirks an eyebrow and then Dave’s the one blushing. So he shrugs, and, well, there’s really no easy way to do this, so he sticks to what he knows: grabbing John by the arm and tugging him close to initiate some fucking cuddling. John gives an expected squeak but snuggles into his side, wrapping an arm around his torso and dropping his head to his chest. The blonde revels in his success, wrapping his own arm around his shoulders and his hair smells like Dave’s shampoo now, which is simultaneously weird and pleasing and also kind of weird that it’s pleasing. Whatever, it’s nice.

He’s nice. He thinks maybe it’s the best day he’s had in years.

* * *

Had it been any other year, or even if he had been anywhere else for this one, John would not have slept through the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, or showered through it, or cooked through it. He would have woken up at 8:30, eaten breakfast, and sat on the floor right in front of the television when it started exactly thirty minutes later. The next three hours would be exactly the same: only getting up during commercial breaks to take a piss, and even then he would only limit himself to two, scared he would miss any of it.

But it wasn’t any other year, it was this year and he was at Dave’s apartment, so he cut himself some slack. He had done that same thing nineteen years in a row, it was time to take a break. And he did, with Dave waking him up late for food instead of his father waking him up early for the parade, with for once being the one to start cooking the day's meal, with taking the time to wash and comb all the knots out of his hair and put on clean, warm clothes. In fact, the entire morning, the parade doesn’t even cross his mind. Another first.

Dave, however, does remember it, and when they finish in the kitchen, he’s pulling John across the room to the couch and turning the television on. He isn’t complaining; he’s been wanting to get right up next to Dave again for hours (months, actually, if he was honest) and cuddling on the couch gives him the perfect opportunity to tuck himself under his arm.

They’re only in time to catch the last hour of the show but John doesn’t mind. He thinks it feels nice to break tradition every once in a while, but then again, that could just be the security in the weight of Dave’s arm across his shoulders. He comments on some of the floats- “They should have used metal there instead of wood, it looks like the whole thing is on the verge of collapse,” “Those colors look really nice together. Like, they could work in a bedroom, that’s how awesome they are,” “Is she okay? It’s like thirty degrees, I hope she doesn’t get sick.”- but he has a feeling Dave isn’t really paying attention. What he is focused on, though, continues to remain a mystery until the show is over.

Dave mutes the channel and just kind of sits there, holding John. He almost looks up to see what he’s doing but then there’s a face in his hair and Jesus, he can feel Dave’s breath down his neck and _that’s a lot nicer than it probably should be_. A little shiver runs down his spine. “Happy Thanksgiving, John.”

He doesn't really know what he's up to but he smiles all the same, nuzzling into Dave’s chest. “You too,” he murmurs back. “We should say what we’re thankful for. Unless you want to save that for when we hold hands at the table and say grace.”

“Is that a thing we’re doing?” His voice is uncertain, and John snorts a little. He had never been much for religion, and neither had his dad, but they had always sat down together and took a moment to appreciate the situation they had been given, even if it was the fruit of their own labor.

“What, saying grace? Not unless you believe there’s something up there. I’m a man of science, dude, you know this.”

“Nah, not interested in all that. Closest I’ve ever come is subscribing to the doctrine of the almighty horror-terrors, may they have mercy and not eat us.”

“Amen!” John laughs quietly. He shifts down on the couch to drop his head to Dave’s lap, cheek smushed against his thigh. He’s warm, and comfortable, and now he’s playing with his hair. It all feels strangely domestic, heart-warmingly so, but he tries not to dwell on that thought too long. He already daydreams too much around Dave.

“You could always add prayer to your science. Add prayer everywhere! Let God into your life.” Dave breaks out a really good impersonation of a southern pastor, raising a hand and looking off in the distance like he can see this God. John just laughs and grabs his hand, pulling it back down to him.

His hair isn’t being toyed with anymore, but he gets a chance to mess with Dave’s fingers. He traces his fingernails and bends his fingers and touches his knuckles as he replies. “No, thanks. I am pretty sure I would never be allowed in a church anyways.” The only time he had ever tried since he was old enough to actually make the choice himself, he had gotten glares from old men and women the entire time. It was very awkward, made him extremely uncomfortable, and he vowed to never willingly do it again.

“Why?”

John isn’t about to tell Dave that story. Maybe one day, but not today. For now he’ll just give a simplified version: “I don’t know if you have noticed, but I am pretty dang gay, dude.” He gets a huff of laughter back.

“Well yeah, but-” Dave cuts himself short. He wonders what he was going to say, but for the moment just relaxes into the comfortable silence.

He even tries watching the television for a bit, but the colors and shapes don’t mean anything to him, so he draws his own on one of Dave’s knees. “You’re pretty gay too.” He says it under his breath, but he’s laughing at the same time. He can hear a small snicker from above him too, and it makes him smile.

“What the hell is that even supposed to mean? Yeah, I’m like, half a gay, I’m cuddling with a guy, I have dreamed of sucking your dick, is this news to you?" Jesus. He knows that that's Dave's sense of humor, but wow. It still gets him every time. His face is pink and he keeps his face down as he shifts to rest higher up Dave’s chest.

“Well, part of that is news to me, so thank you for delivering.” Dave must not have anything to say because he just kisses the top of his head, and then his hairline, and then he drags John upward just enough to kiss his forehead. His cheeks get even pinker now and he looks up for just a second, glances between his own reflection in the other’s sunglasses and his lips.

Dave kisses his temple this time, whispering “Hey.” It doesn’t sound like he wants something, but it gets John to keep his head up.

“Yo,” he replies, but Dave just makes a face. What is that for? “What, why are you looking at me like that?”

Even behind the shades, Dave’s expression changes fast enough that it makes John wonder if he actually imagined the look. He just looks cheeky now. “Huh? What?”

He tilts his head, frowning suspiciously. “You’re making faces at me.”

“Am I?” There’s another kiss, right in the middle of his cheek. These little kisses are really starting to pile up on John’s fragile emotions, evident in the way his breath catches in his throat. He nods, trying to play it off. “I’m smiling?” Dave offers, and he can’t hold back his smile anymore, hand coming up so he can trace his thumb over his cheek. It makes him flame up more than anything else the whole morning, and he tries to hide his face in Dave’s chest.

“You’re full of bullshit is what you are.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Dave’s grinning affectionately at him, but it’s soft and heartwarming and he can’t help but wonder how many people have seen that.

Eight, probably.

 _You’ve only known me for weeks_ , he doesn’t say, instead just playfully swats at his chest, playing offended. “You don’t know that!” John narrowly misses the hand that comes up to flick him in the side of the head, and he whines at the contact. “You’re a jackass.” He just shrugs, still smiling. John sits up, swooping under Dave’s arm and sits beside him. He can’t stop staring at him, because he’s seen that smile before but only a few times, and he wants to see it more than anyone else has, wants to hoard the sight for himself. “You should do that more often,” he starts before he can really stop himself. “That thing you’re doing with your face.”

Of course, acknowledging it makes Dave stop immediately. “Oh, should I?” He’s smirking now, sultry and teasing. Two can play at this game, John thinks.

He tries to, as casually as he can manage, throw a knee over Dave’s legs and sit on his thighs. He fumbles a little with it, having to hold Dave’s shoulders for balance, but eventually he gets settled. He doesn’t know exactly what to do with his legs, so he tries to make up for it by slipping his hand around to the back of his neck.

He doesn’t seem to notice anything, too busy focusing on the new weight of John in his lap. His eyebrows are raised over his sunglasses, lips a little parted, and fuck if John doesn’t want to just kiss him right then. “Yeah, you should. It’s a really good look on you but you rarely do it. I think the only times I’ve ever seen you smile like _that_ were in this apartment, and maybe the fountain that one day. I want more of it, so you should do it.”

He’s worried he comes off a little bossy, maybe jealous and protective, but Dave just smiles all soft and looks him over and says, “Yeah, okay. For you.” The last two words send a surge of bravery through him, and there is nothing else in the world he wants more than to lean in and kiss Dave hard. He’s grinning wide himself now, biting his bottom lip through it, and with his newfound courage he slowly reaches up for the arms of Dave’s sunglasses. He’s giving him plenty of time to stop him but he doesn’t, so John gently slips them off of his face and hooks them over his collar. It pulls his sweater down a good couple of inches but he doesn’t care, transfixed on Dave’s face.

He can see a lot of Rose in him. If they stood beside each other, anyone could tell they were twins. But Dave’s jaw is a little squarer, a little stubblier, his nose is slightly crooked, light freckles exposed where they would normally be hidden by his stupid shades. His smile is kinder; makes John feel safe, feel at home, whereas Rose’s makes him laugh, like he’s in on a joke no one else knows about. Not to mention Dave’s eyes, framed by light blonde lashes, a soft contrast to the piercing red irises with hints of gold in them. How someone even gets eyes that pretty, John has no idea, but genetics have certainly blessed his and Rose’s family, if the pictures in her apartment are anything to go by. He hasn’t noticed that he has been trailing his fingertips across Dave’s features until they bump over the metal buds by his eyebrow, and he laughs. He always forgets about them, hidden by his hair. He likes the piercing, though. It gives him more of a bad-boy look that John just finds amusing. “Don’t tell Rose this, but I think I’m starting to like your face a lot better.”

His expression relaxes from his deer-in-the-headlights look into something much more comfortable as he laughs. “Nice to know. I’d hate to have to fight my own flesh and blood for you.” He has been pretty still this whole time, watching John intensely, but now he hesitantly sets one of his hands on John’s waist, who hums lightly.

“You’d fight for me? That’s touching.” He’s got a teasing little smirk on his face now. “Fortunately for you, though, Rose has already found her soulmate, so I don’t think she would be going after y- after me.”

He almost slips up and says _after yours_ , but catches himself right before disaster strikes. Dave tilts his head and sticks out his tongue, and John thinks it’s probably supposed to be challenging, but he really just looks like a puppy just woken up. He raises his eyebrow at him, as if to say _really Dave? How mature_ , and glances down at his tongue. If he doesn’t put that thing away he’s going to have to take care of it himself.

Quite a bit of time passes before they stop making faces at each other, but John only lets up because he gets poked in the stomach. It surprises him and he flinches backwards, giggling already. He had better not tickle him! Not when he’s sitting on his lap obviously trying to be flirty. “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare, not right now.” Dave smirks again and he shakes his head, trying to discourage him from trying again. He drops his hands to reach for his, still snickering lightly. “If you want to tickle me, just wait for like, ten minutes. Then I’ll give, I promise you.”

Dave’s kind of jumpy, like he expects to be tickled back. “What are you gonna do for ten minutes then?”

“I’m sure I could think of a few things….” He smirks as he says it, toying with the strings on Dave’s hoodie. He’s feeling unusually flirty and courageous, hence him even sitting on his lap in the first place. It helps that Dave turns red and has to look away. Helps a lot!

Until he finally gets an idea and stares him down, smirking a little himself. “Better get on that, then, your ten minutes are wasting away.” _Don’t mind if I do._

John loops his arms around his neck and presses closer. “You aren’t really going to count the minutes, are you? Seems a little disrespectful.” Dave’s other hand comes to his waist as well, and his fingers don’t stay still, tracing out patterns on his hips. It makes him shudder briefly.

“Disrespectful? Rude, maybe, but disrespectful?” He’s smug now, snark dripping from everything he says and does. It’s almost, almost annoying, and John frowns at him.

“Definitely. I’m trying so hard here, and you’re just brushing me off, giving me a deadline. You can’t rush things like this, you know.”

He doesn’t get any less smug. “This being…? It’s hard to tell when you’re not doing anything.” Okay, now he’s just being mean.

“Maybe I won’t, with that attitude,” he threatens him back. He hopes it’s not too obvious that he would anyway.

"Guess I'll have to do it myself then," Dave straightens his back and leans forward and draws one of his hands up, into John's hair and _finally_ kisses him. John can't breathe for the flowers blooming in his throat that Dave had to have put there, grew with his bright eyes drinking him in and his fingers taking every chance to brush over him, and watered with his smile, and now his lips just brushing against his, soft and a little chapped. His eyes aren't open anymore but his hand is curled through his hair and warm against his hip and when John doesn't move for the shock in his brain, _can't breathe_ , he stops but his whole body's still relaxed in contrast to how frozen he is. He still smiles at him, only the heat has drained out of it so he's just warm, all of him is warm. “Okay?”

 _Okay? That was so much better than okay._ He nods ever so slightly, taking a deep breath. He’s still kind of stunned and clinging to Dave. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he whispers slowly. "Since the first words I heard you say, honestly. The first time I even saw you."

Dave’s hand strokes over his neck and shoulder, soothing. “Really?” He almost looks like he can’t believe it, or maybe just earnest, but that clears up pretty fast. “Maybe we should try again then, yeah? Do it better this time.”

He smiles softly back and nods. He still didn’t get the hint. “Yeah. Actually impress me this time, why don’t you?” He’s teasing him again, slipping his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. Dave’s face kind of scrunches up like he’s unimpressed and he gets another flick to the side of the head for it. “Hey, you’re going to give me brain damage! Don’t hit my head.”

He scoffs, “You’re not gonna get brain damage. I can always hit you somewhere else, though,” and he’s about to ask what Dave means before his hand slips off his waist and _grabs his ass_. It comes as a _huge_ surprise and he yelps, flinching a bit, making Dave retract his hand pretty fast.

"Hey!" He protests, although he isn't terribly against the idea of Dave doing that again. His face flushes even more and he ducks his head, laughing. "What the hell, man, give me some warning next time."

It makes him grin and it’s not really mischievous, just a little cheeky. “I thought that was warning.”

“No, I was thinking something more along the lines of, ‘Hey, John, I’m about to do this really sexy thing where I grab your butt to make you stop complaining at me.’ Something like that, you know.”

“So it was really sexy?”

John shrugs nonchalantly. “As sexy as the first time someone grabbing your butt can be, I guess. But yeah, I would have to say yes.”

Then the only warning he gets is Dave rolling his eyes and returning his hand to his lower back this time so he can pull him close and kiss him again, and it’s just as fantastic as the first time but he doesn’t get overwhelmed by it, which is nice. It means he can participate and maybe knock Dave back a little. Let him be the overwhelmed one.

Both of their eyes close and he focuses on feeling him, everywhere they’re touching. His lips are just as warm as the first time but Dave’s not as languid, more energized. They’re close enough that their chests are touching so he can feel him, how he’s just a little tense, until their noses bump and Dave huffs a laugh onto his lips, breath warm. John simply draws him back into it, crowding into his space and kissing him as hard as he dared, cupping his hand where it was playing with his hair, and Dave responds in kind. It’s when the blonde sweeps his tongue across his lips that John starts feeling hot. He parts his lips and then he can taste it, taste him, Dave’s tongue sliding against his own and it’s _hot_. The hand on his back clutches more to his sweater, the other moving just to hold his cheek and Dave’s whole body fluctuates, muscles tensing more and he breathes out this little sound and John swallows it like ambrosia.

He doesn’t really realize how hot he is until he feels Dave against his thigh, half-hard, and he’s just the same. It’s like an alarm to his brain, shocking him right out of his haze and he draws back, breathing hard. “Dave, Dave,” he chases after his lips and it sends another little spark through his body and that’s _definitely not what he needs right now_. “Too fast.”

Dave backs off quick, then, huffing just the same. His red eyes are still hazy, half-lidded. It’s really fucking sexy. “Sorry.” The hand on John’s face drops and Dave looks sheepish, about as embarrassed as John feels. He huffs out a laugh and pecks him on the nose, hopefully reassuring him.

“It’s alright. I’ve just... Never done this before, and sloppy makeouts on your couch isn’t exactly how I pictured our first time going.” He’s trying to will away his arousal now, but in all honesty sitting on Dave’s lap isn’t doing much for him except making him want to rock forward, roll his hips across the other’s, and- _wow yeah that is extremely not what he needs right now_.

“Our first time?” There’s that annoying smirk again, great, even as Dave lets go of John completely like he’s waiting for him to move. That is, until his eyes flit down and he carefully pulls John’s shirt up, like he’s trying to fix how it was ruffled in their...shenanigans. He can’t help but think about how his fingers are brushing right over his tattoo.

Focusing, he rolls his eyes and slides off of his lap, leaving one leg draped across it. He’s careful to keep it kinda low on his legs, though. “Oh hush, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it either.”

He shrugs, resting his hands on the leg in his lap. “Just though the wording was funny. Cute. Like a fifteen year old girl.” John glares daggers, puffing up like a threatened animal.

“It was nothing like that.”

“Then what was it like.”

“It was an admittedly pretty gay substitute for ‘my first time,’ duh.” Even though it wouldn’t be his actual first time encountering another dude’s willy, it would be the first chance he got to with Dave, and he didn’t want it to be because of some spur-of-the-moment horniness. No, as stupid as it sounds, he wants it to be special.

It’s around this point that Dave starts rubbing his foot, and goddamn if it isn’t great. He looks kind of pensive, and then he just goes, “You should stay the night again.”

His stomach drops and he frowns, unsure. “Um, I don’t know what you mean by that.” He can feel his face getting hot again, and he can’t quite look Dave in the eye.

“John.” He waits for him to look and John, nervous, eventually does. “I mean you should stay the night so there’s more time for me to kiss you and cuddle and maybe I can make you breakfast again.”

Oh. _Oh_ , okay, he doesn’t feel as uncomfortable now. More embarrassed, actually, a lot more. “Oh. Heh, sorry. That sounds really nice, I would love to.” He did think to pack an extra change of clothes with him, so at least he has something to wear tomorrow that actually fits him. The idea of spending another night here excites him. “One condition, though.” Dave raises his eyebrows, not bothering to voice his question. “You can’t just up and leave right after I wake up this time, alright? I need my morning cuddles and I was rudely deprived of them today.”

Dave laughs, and it’s beautiful.

* * *

They decide to spend the rest of the afternoon watching the Peanuts Thanksgiving Special, and sharing stories of past holidays. He’s spent almost every thanksgiving with Mom and Rose though, so once he finishes talking about the last three years with Dirk he just has that, and it reminds him of how he was supposed to spend this Thanksgiving and he really wishes he wasn’t upset about it at all but he’s still a little bitter and it makes him tense. Thankfully, John seems to nice and so they don’t talk for long before he carefully moves the conversation along. It’s only an hour and a half until they turkey comes out of the oven, and then they’re all ready for an early dinner.

Despite wanting to keep it simple they still have a lot of food, and it all looks delicious, especially because he doesn’t know how to cook anything this fancy and Dirk sure as hell doesn’t. It’s been a while. He doesn’t actually have a kitchen table so they clear the coffee table and sit on the floor and pretend. Unfortunately this makes it easier for John to kick him in the shin when he starts acting stupid.

“Alright,” he starts when they’re about a fourth into their meals. “Just because it’s tradition, I’m saying right now that we both have to share what we’re thankful for. I can go first, if you want me to.”

He deadpans at him for a few seconds, thinking he wasn’t actually serious and it was almost embarrassing, but his mom always made them do it too so he nods. “Yeah, sure, let’s hear it.”

“Okay! Things I’m thankful for. Number one would be my dad. He has always been there for me, to support me through literally everything I do. I would be actually nowhere without him. He’s my best friend. Number two is my roommate Jake and his girlfriend Jane, because even if I don’t know either of them terribly well, they have both always been really kind to me for the several years I have known them, and I really appreciate that. Three is my school, and job, and just schedule in general. None of it is too overwhelming, although I do get bad days. Really bad days. But they keep me busy, and they keep me full, so I’m happy I have them.”

Jesus, he sure as hell doesn’t have this much to talk about. He’s kind of smiling along, nodding, rolling his eyes sometimes but it’s cute and yeah, he’s thinking about saying a few of the same things. But then John _keeps talking_.

“The fourth thing is my cousin Jade, who was my other best friend for my whole life, and still continues to be. She has also been right beside me through a lot, and I love her with my whole heart. After her is Rose, who is yet another one of my best friends. I can’t even begin to describe how much Rose has done for me just in the past year, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get to properly thank her. I mean, you know how she is. She’s really loving and nice and always looks out for you even when you don’t want her to be, but you always feel loved, you know? Anyways, yeah. Her, Jade, my dad, and you are probably the closest people to me. Ever, I think.” Dave starts to open his mouth to ask how long this list is, but John kicks him in the shin again, too hard. He shuts up immediately, pouting and on the verge of annoyed. “Hush! I’m not done yet.

“Six is myself. I made it to where I am now because of my own actions as much as anyone else’s, and I am very proud of who I am today, and everyone who made me like this. Seven is this stupid tattoo. Even if it has caused me my fair share of grief, I am actually very, very in love with it and everything related to it.”

He lingers on Dave’s face, but he’s honestly just a little uncomfortable, as always when the topic comes up. He moves on soon enough though. “Eight is running out of eggs on October fourth, because without that stupid little inconvenience I never would have had to go to the store to pick up some more the next day, and I never would have met you or heard you sing and play or asked you to dinner or forgotten to even get the eggs in the first place.”

By now he knows his face is bright red, and his eyes are watering which is awful, _why the fuck am I crying?_ He’d like to say he’s just glad that John feels the same but he can’t remember the last time someone had talked about him like that and John says it all so earnestly he can’t blow it off, knows he means it completely. Thankfully John grabs his hands and both of them squeezes tight and he tries to focus on not actually crying like a baby.

“I bet at this point you can probably guess what nine is,” he starts off with a little laugh. “It’s you. I don’t even think I need to explain myself here, but Dave, you are just so goddamn important to me. I don’t even know how it happened, but somewhere between the stupid jokes and the awkward sexual tension and the frantic planning around busy schedules I started really falling for you. Without you I would still be one hell of a lame guy, and I never would have swam in a park fountain, or played a drinking game with someone, or gotten over my fear of weapons a little bit and watched someone sword-fight firsthand, or slow-danced in the middle of the night in the dark in mismatched socks, or gone into that tiny, beaten-down comic store. There’s just so much you’ve shown me and _experienced_ with me, and god I hope you stick around forever because I am never letting you go, not without a fight.”

About halfway through he lets go to cover his face with one of his arms, because the water is spilling out of his eyes and he’s embarrassed to hell and he doesn’t want John to see. He can hear him kind of move like he’s gonna get so he lets go of his other hand really quick to flap it in front of him. “Fuck, give me a minute.” He has to sniffle a couple times and scrub at his face with just his hoodie sleeve but when he finally uncovers his eyes he can’t stop smiling, so wide it hurts. He takes one of his hands again and holds on tight, sniffling one last time. John looks almost heart broken, leaning across the table to kiss him slowly on the forehead. There’s a large amount of emotional fragility that comes from crying and this almost breaks him, but he doesn’t start crying again, thank god.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs a little, “can we pretend this isn’t happening? Cuz I sure as hell didn’t plan on crying today.” He is so freaking embarrassed. John echoes his little laugh, but it sounds more worried than embarrassed.

“Yeah, of course. Which is to say, I’m not going to forget it, but I won’t bring it up again. Heh, also I’m sorry if that was like, a little much.”

He scoffs, and his voice still sounds stupid, _ugh._ “It was, you giant homo. Shit, it’s my turn ain’t it?” He actually has to think of proper things to be thankful for. Although, he’s not with his family. Just John. Which means he can be as improper as he wants, and he starts laughing just thinking about it. It takes him a minute to compose himself, but he thinks he’s not gonna embarrass himself anymore.

“Okay. I’m thankful for my family, Rose, Dirk, they’re great, yadda yadda, I’m always so incredibly happy my family is all weirder than I am, it makes me the good one,” he flashes a grin. John does not look impressed, so he rolls his eyes and tries again. “Seriously, though, like you said, Rose is always so fucking caring even when she’s all in your face and she does more for me than I ever deserve, so I’m pretty thankful. I need to tell her that more,” he sobers a little, smiling to himself.

“I’m thankful for…I’m thankful for being me, I guess. I’m not a complete shitbag,” he’s starting to look like he wants to hit him again. “I like my taste in music, and that I can mix and draw and shit, so. Thanks to genetics?” Well, it’s not like he’s gonna say thanks to something he doesn’t believe in.

He can’t look at him while he says this, or he won’t be able to take it seriously. “And yeah, I’m pretty thankful I ever met you. I don’t need a big spiel, in my opinion, cuz I think about how freaking lucky I am every day because I get to see you, and damn it John I don’t think you realize what a gift you are, every time you so much as look at me, it’s like I won the world.” His list is a lot shorter, but he’s got out everything he needs to.

John just kind of stares at him for a few moments before sighing. “You’re really awesome, you know,” is what he says, but he thinks he catches on to what he really means.

“Yeah, I got that,” he’s grinning again, shy, and settles for taking another bite of his food.

They don’t really do anything else for the rest of the day. They have to put the leftovers away but after that  he convinces John to laze around watching movies with him. Dave, of course, ate too much and his stomach kind of hurts but it’s more than made up for it by lying next to John and kissing for as long as they want to.

* * *

They waste the entire day away, laying around and just enjoying their time together. He has to wonder if Dave feels the same way he does, if he keeps turning over everything that happened and the fact that they’re _together_ , now, for real. Because every time he thinks about how he can just kiss him, he does, and Dave’s the same way. In actuality, no one’s watching the TV. They hardly even move until the blonde gets up to shut the curtains and then pulls John up and along so they can lay around on his bed instead where it’s less cramped.

It gets to the kind of atmosphere that only comes when all the lights are off and the world is quiet and you feel like you could say anything, like Dave isn't beside him and he’s talking to the stars and they’re kind enough to talk back. He can feel him, though, because both of them refuse to let go. They've been connected all day, knees brushing or hands touching and he’s not going to give that up until he has to.

Their conversation jumps like a frog, following whatever either of them come to think. They talk about old memories, _my aunt died when I was seven and it was the first funeral I had ever been to_ , and older memories, _did you ever read that kid’s book about the little wiener dog that just wanted a nice Halloween costume or something_ and then not about memories at all, _sometimes I think about how likely it is that nothing actually exists_ and _I think the only reason we exist is so somebody can laugh at us._

Eventually Dave spends so long staying quiet he suspects he’s asleep, until he blurts out, “Do you know what happened- why we couldn't have Thanksgiving at Mom's house?”

No, he doesn't. Rose called him up and told him it was off, canceled. She never explained why, but her voice was tight, so he figured something really bad had happened. He never pressed her for it, though. “No, Rose never told me,” he replies softly.

He hears him sigh, and when he talks it’s less like forming coherent sentences and more like throwing vaguely related words into the air. “She’s-typically, she’s not the best at being a parent, even though we love her anyways and I figure we could have much worse, but I don’t think Rose feels the same. But she’s Inkless. She’s always been an alcoholic but for a couple months I think she was clean, and we don’t know when but Rose called her and she was drunk, and she didn't want to bring you and Kanaya over there when our mom would just be wasted the whole night.”

John listens quietly, just tracing over the back of his hand. No wonder Rose shooed him away. “That makes sense. If I was supposed to have company and that’s what we would be coming home too, I wouldn't want visitors either.”

“Yeah. It’s just weird though, you know? Like, she’s our mom, and parents like, when you become a parent, your life becomes all about your kids, but she’s still caught up in herself and she has a good reason to be, but it means she wasn't much of a parent. And we were used to it, still pretty much are, you spend your whole life knowing your mom has this huge ‘problem’ and it’s just normal, but everyone who ever found out about it treated us weird.” Yet another difference in their histories, another reason why he pushed away what John embraced. Idly, he recalls how he felt when he barely knew Dave, just thought they were soulmates, and comparing it to how well they know each other now...it’s another reason to be happy.

Dave puts an end to the conversation by turning over and snuggling closer. John welcomes him with open arms, pulling him close and kissing his cheek. “I’m sorry about your mother,” he whispers, stroking his hand through his soft hair. “Thank you for telling me, though.”

It gets him to smile, a little. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime.” ‘He kind of wants to share his own history, and well, there’s no reason not to. “I’m pretty sure my dad never met his soulmate. Or if he did, I was born and then something happened that he never talks about, and from then on it has just been him and I.”

“Sucks, doesn't it? I’m sorry.” And then to complete the show of copying John, he kisses him- on the eye.

“That was my eye,” John snickers, and it lightens up the mood a bit. “You totally just got my eyelid.”

“Did it hurt?” He shakes his head. “Then I don’t care,” and he does it again, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay’s notes: massive thanks to renee for putting up with my baby ass getting frustrated over writing all the time!!! love you bro. I’M SO EXCITED FOR DAVE’S BRIRTHDAY NEXT CHAPTER john is such a sweet babe he planned somethin so cu te for them uGh,


	10. Truly, Madly, Deeply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> renee’s notes: fun fact shay and I regularly had to stop writing to sob like ugly babies. the ratio of tears to words for this chapter is like 3:1. There was going to be blowjobs. Instead, you get this bullshit.  
> Thanks a ton for all the feedback that came from last chapter! It’s really encouraging, to know that so many people enjoy reading this. Also, my school already started and Shay’s is about to, so updates will be few and far between. Not that there’s many left ;) (Also the title is shay's idea she's the 1D fan here but it's actually really good and fitting u should listen to it)

He doesn’t see John again until his birthday, which is less than a week after Thanksgiving but feels like months. All of his professors are preparing them for exams, which means the only thing he has to do is study and he only does that about half as often as he should. A lot of time is spent sitting around, thinking about his- thinking about John. Because they haven’t talked about it enough to label it anything. John actually cares about his school work and is always, it seems, too busy to even text. He can’t even weasel anything about his birthday out of him-John just drops tidbits that confuse him even more than they help.

EB: i have something for you!    
EB: ok, here is john egbert’s list of things that dave strider needs to have prepared for his birthday extravaganza! hehe.   
EB: wear something nice but casual. something you wouldn't mind getting messy! because a lot of that is going to happen.   
EB: but keep some nicer clothes ready to go at home, too. like, i don’t know, whatever you define “formal, yet still casual” as.   
EB: wear walking shoes! make sure they match your nice clothes, though. in my opinion, black converse go with any and everything, but they may not be very comfortable to walk in. i trust your judgement here, otherwise it is your feet that will pay the price!   
EB: don’t forget spare change! it really does not matter at all how much you bring. just some coins, whatever you want. you aren’t going to be paying for anything so maybe keep them small.   
EB: oh, and don’t forget to dress warm! it is going to be very cold outside.   
EB: ok that’s everything! i’m looking forward to this probably even more than you are.   
EB: i hope you have as much fun doing it as i did planning it. :) i’ll pick you up at four on wednesday.

He’d spent a while wondering what “formal, yet still casual” even meant before totally disregarding John’s opinion- he was Dave Strider, and he was definitely dressing up for his birthday. His final choice for the day was a black button up that was just a little too small and old jeans, plus his winter jacket because New York had already hit ‘fucking freezing’ and it was only getting colder.

On December third he wakes up to his phone ringing at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning because it’s tradition between him and Rose that one wakes the other up on their birthday. Ever since he moved out, that was by calling, and he always thought about turning his phone off but he really doesn’t want to see what she would do if he didn’t answer. So he picks up and listens to her and Kanaya singing him ‘happy birthday,’ and he grumbles and swears he’s gonna wake her up even earlier tomorrow. Then it’s right back to sleep until noon or so, and then it’s four hours of sitting around, unpleasantly excited.

Finally four o’clock comes and John is right on time as usual, only it’s not at all what he expected. There’s a rapid, persistent knocking on his door, and when Dave opens it, John starts babbling off before he can even say hello. Typical.

“Hey! You look awesome. Really great actually. Can I ask you for a favor? I need your car keys. Just like, for tonight. Also I need to know where your car is and what it looks like.”

So many questions, so little time (he’s spending all his staring at John like maybe it would inspire him to explain what the fuck was up). Cue sigh. “Yeah, sure, it’s in the parking garage, red Corolla on the third floor.” He moves as he talks, leaving the door open and grabbing his keys to pass along.

John takes them with a grin, heading quickly down the hallway, towards the stairs and elevators. “Awesome, thanks Dave! You’re the best. I’ll be right back, give me ten minutes!”

He watches him go, head hanging out in the hallway, still wondering what the fuck is going on. He doesn’t even bother shutting his door, and true to his word, he’s back soon enough. He’s practically bounding down the hallway, excited grin on his face, but he’s got one arm awkwardly stuck behind his back. He stops in front of his door and offers him a quick glance-over, still hiding whatever it is he’s holding. “You are looking very sharp today. Are you sure you want to get that shirt dirty, though? It looks really nice on you and I dunno, I’d hate to see it ruined.”

He definitely does not turn red at the compliments. Come on, confidence. “It’s like two sizes too small, this is the first time I’ve worn it in months. What’cha hiding?” He gets up, grabs his coat and pokes him to get him to back out of his doorway, shutting the door.

John just grins, bumping the toe of his shoe against Dave’s door. “Let me in for two minutes and I’ll show you.”

“What, let you into my apartment?” He stops from where he was about to lock the door.

“Yes,” John says, nodding vigorously. “Into your apartment, just for a couple of minutes. I brought something for you.”

He’s still not sure if he intends to just put the thing in there without him or for Dave to open it inside but either way he opens the door and gets out of the way. John rolls his eyes and walks inside, quickly switching his arm to in front of him. He catches a flash of red, just as John is tugging on his arm and pulling him inside behind him. He goes along with it easily.

“Alright, can I see it now?”

“Sure. Before you say anything about how much, I’m just going to defend myself by telling you there was a sale going on,” He grins a little nervously and holds out a shit ton of deep red roses, so fucking many that he has to hold their stems with two hands. “Happy birthday!”

He finds himself staring at him, mouth open and eyes wide. “H-how many roses is that?”

“Thirty-six,” he says proudly. Thirty six. This guy bought him three dozen roses. _John_ bought him _three dozen_ roses.

His second response is to carefully take the roses from him, set them on the kitchen counter, and kiss the shit out of him. He almost misses his lips, he’s so excited (nervous?) but he gets it right, wrapping his hands up in John’s soft hair. John seems surprised at first, but soon enough he wraps his arms around him and melts into him, kissing back eagerly. Just like the last time, holding John so close and kissing him feels undeniably perfect, like there’s nothing else he could ever need to do. He wishes they’d done this from day one-he’s got lost time to make up for.

When he has to breathe he rests his head on John’s shoulder (stupid move, it hurts his neck and he has to give up after a second) and says, “I can’t fucking believe you. You are an actual, real-life Disney prince.”

He just laughs softly, kissing his temple. “I am nothing of the sort.”

“Bullshit.” God, he’s so lucky. Never in his life has he dated someone that bought him roses, let alone three dozen, he’s starting to wonder if John is even from this planet.

“Come on, you super old man, we have things to do. A somewhat schedule to keep. Are you _sure_ you want to wear that?” Old man? Rude.

He straightens back up, staring him down through his shades. “I can go shirtless if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“No, no! Not now, dummy. We’re going somewhere, you need to be decent.”

“Are you saying I’m not decent? Why, I never!” He gasps, holding a hand to his chest daintily. John snorts and pats his hand.

“You’re way more than decent, you’re perfect. But you gotta be like, publicly decent. Everything covered, you know.”

He sighs long-sufferingly and pulls his hand away, going back to the roses. “Don’t I need to like cut the ends off or something? At least find a vase,” he moves around the counter to the kitchen to start looking for one.

“Yeah, but I can cut them if you want. Do you even own a vase?”

“....No.” He straightens from where he was looking under the sink, looking around again. “I’ve got a little bottle collection though.” He’d started keeping bottles when he bought more expensive beers, so he starts pulling those out of the cupboard. John, meanwhile, is giggling under his breath. After a minute it kind of makes him laugh too, and he huffs, “What are you laughing at?”

Grabbing a bottle Dave has already laid out, he just shakes his head. “I bought you three dozen fucking roses,” he says disbelievingly as he lines up a couple roses next to it, holding the stems where he needs to cut them. “And you don’t have any vases. I don’t know, it’s just… Something I feel like I should have expected. Do you have any garden or steak scissors?”

“All the knives are over there,” he points. He does not, in fact, just steak knives and a few others. “No one’s bought me flowers before, why would I have any vases?”

“No one?” He grabs one of the knives and starts chopping the stems, poking the flowers into the mouths of the various bottles.

He stops piling bottles onto the counter to think about it for a second. “There was one time I set Rose up with this chick I knew and then she bought me flowers, and the card said ‘thanks for getting me laid.’ Otherwise, no.”

He’s laughing again as he fills up a few of the bottles with just enough water. “I wouldn’t count that. All of these? They’re all because you stole my heart, not helped me get laid.”

He can’t resist saying, “Yet.”

John just looks up at him, all pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, for a couple seconds before he looks down again to focus on what he’s doing with his hands. It’s glorious. “Whatever, dork,” he mutters, but Dave can hear the smile. “We should hurry with this, I wasn’t kidding about a semi-schedule.”

“Waiting on you, dude.” He’s already pulled up all his bottles, now just taking the time to stare at John in his ridiculous, puffy green jacket and earmuffs.

His date rolls his eyes but finishes splitting up the flowers, stepping back to admire them. There’s like twelve bottles, and roses everywhere. It makes his stomach flutter like he has butterflies, it’s so ridiculous and also, really beautiful. Because he’s a photographer. “Okay, I think that works for now. Are you ready to go?”

“Yep. Well, wait,” he steps close to John, turning him around by the shoulders to kiss him again. It’s just as great as he remembers. As soon as John starts to reciprocate he pulls back and breathes, “Now I’m ready.”

“God, you’re cute.” John takes his hand and leads him out of his apartment, waiting for him to lock the door before pulling him to the elevators and, eventually downstairs to his own car, which John insists on driving, of course.

“Did you bring a blindfold too? I bet I can guess where we’re going before we get there.”

“I do have something in the backseat I could use, but no, I’m not going to blindfold you. And I don’t think you have any idea where I’m taking you today! At least, I hope you don’t, because that would ruin the surprise I’ve been working up to for- a long time.”

He watches him carefully. “You stumbled.”

John shakes his head, doesn’t look at him (probably because he’s driving). “Did not.”

“You verbally stumbled. What were you gonna say?”

“Nothing! I had to swallow spit, jeez.” He keeps looking at him for a few more moments before he drops it, staring out the window and trying to guess where they’re headed. After maybe half an hour, John pulls into a tiny parking lot by a small, colorful building, grinning as he stops the car. “Here’s stop one!”

Well, he didn’t guess this. “Okay, what are we even doing here?”

John can’t stop beaming at him. “So, I rented a room in this tiny studio, and bought a pretty big canvas, and we’ve got two hours to just paint whatever we want. I dunno, I thought it would be a pretty fun and _different_ way to bond.”

He’s not wrong- Dave sure as hell never would have expected this. It’s kind of a weird idea for a date, but it’s unique and fun and he appreciates it just because it’s John doing this for him.

He lets himself out of the car, looking around at the area some more. It doesn’t look sketchy, per se, but it is kind of empty. There aren’t very many people or cars around, but he trusts John. “Yeah, alright. Let’s do it.”

He’s led inside again and after someone behind the front desk shows them to their room, John starts shedding his jacket. He’s wearing a white tee that looks a little beaten up, frayed near the bottom. Dave looks around the room while he does the same, to see a giant blank canvas on the tarp in the middle of the room, and a large variety of paint and brushes beside it. “Come on, dude, don’t stare. You just gotta go for it!”

“I don’t think you understand how art works.” He toes his shoes and then his socks off, rolls his sleeves up and, after some consideration, sets his shades on the floor. John was right though, this is gonna be messy. _I swear to god if I get paint in my hair…_

“You know what I have to say to that?” John asks, going straight for the green paint. “ _‘If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.’_ Vincent van Gogh said that.”

He rolls his eyes, picking up the red. “Don’t get all gross inspirational on me, I just meant I kinda wanna think about it first. Like, yeah you can just go crazy and have fun with things, but you could also spend two minutes thinking about it and make it look that much cooler.”

John dips two fingers in a bucket of purple paint, sauntering up to him. “Where’s the fun in thinking stuff through? Just let yourself go,” he says with a small smile, then pats the paint right on his cheek.

Dave glares at him. “Don’t start this, Egbert, because you won’t win.”

He hops back to the canvas, crouching at a corner and picking up his brush where he had dropped it onto the tarp. “I’m not starting anything, Strider.” His tone is somehow both challenging and mocking. Asshole.

He doesn’t bother with a brush, dipping his fingers in the small bucket he’s holding, crouching in the opposite corner so he can start swirling it around. He paints like he doodles, doing rough outlines of his shades and flowers and John and the occasional phallus. When he gets bored with that, he coats about half of his hand and flings it out, splattering red across the canvas. John exclaims from across the way, shooting a half-hearted glare at him. “Dude, you’re getting red all over my stuff.”

“Sorry, I was just trying to ‘let myself go,’” the grin he flashes is devilish and he’s proud. Finally, he sets the red down, wiping his hand on his jeans and grabs the orange. As far as he can tell, John’s still using the green, but he’s hunched over the canvas so he can’t really tell what he’s working on.

So he starts crawling over, slowly, trying to escape his notice. He gets about halfway there before John glances over at him, looking out of the corner of his eye. He lifts his head slowly, watching him suspiciously before turning back to his painting. Dave carefully does not look at him, squeezing a little orange on his fingers and painting a heart, then some swirly shit, and then scooting closer.

John doesn’t notice him-or maybe he does, but is gracious enough to ignore him. Finally he gets close enough to realize it’s a girl. “She’s pretty,” he murmurs-he has no idea who she is, plus he’s looking at it upside-down.

He doesn’t quite jump but he does flinch, looking up at Dave. “It’s my cousin,” he explains as he continues to paint. “She’s a couple years older than me. She’s gorgeous.”

It makes him smile, unexpectedly-he sounds like he has a lot of respect for her. Curiosity sated, he starts painting again, swirling blues and purples across from John so he’s got a gradient area, then leaves that to dry some. He’s got a plan for that piece. While John’s focuses on his work, he gets some blue on his fingers, then darts his hand out to smear it across his forehead. “Simbaa.”

“Hey!” John calls out in surprise, laughing as he bats his hand away. “Do I look like a lion cub to you?”

“Nah, you look kinda like a gopher actually,” he grins wide, unintentionally showing off his teeth.

John just flips him off, not even making a move to wipe the paint off. “Hand me the light blue? I’m pretty sure it’s closer to you than me.” He grabs it and sets it down in front of him. “Thank ya babe.”

He can’t keep the smile off his face, painting Sweet Bro. “Babe?”

The other boy does not play off the way he freezes for just a second as well as he probably thinks, at all. “Uh, yeah. That’s what all of the cool kids are calling each other now, right? Geez, Dave, keep up.”

“I was flattered and then you ruined it.” He deadpans at him, even though John’s not even looking.

“I bought you roses, let me call you as many cute, stupid pet names as I want to.”

“You’re the one who insisted ‘that’s what the cool kids say.’” He makes this stupid, nerdy voice to imitate John because he has to.

He gets some of the yellow paint flicked at him as John scoots around the canvas, apparently finished with his painting of his cousin. “So what, you caught me being instinctively affectionate. Congrats! Dummy.”

Dave stands up just so he can walk around the canvas, plop next to John and pull him into a kiss. “So I like it, dummy.”

He returns the kiss, pecking his lips before each of his cheeks. “I like you, dummy.”

Dave consoles himself with the knowledge that John is just as, if not more, pink as him.

* * *

So far, so great! John can’t believe the day is already going better than he expected, and he just has so much more planned. Today is going to be the best birthday slash date Dave Strider has ever had, he is going to make sure of it!

The painting’s not a masterpiece- in fact, at least a third of it is dicks, courtesy of Dave. It’s still pretty awesome, though. The canvas can’t fit in Dave’s car so they elect to leave it there for a couple days until one of them can find a better way of transporting it. They don’t have to clean up or anything, just clean up in the bathroom and then he can drive them back to Dave’s apartment. Dave can’t keep the smile off his face and it just lights him up inside and makes him want to keep that look in his memory forever.

“I have honestly never been on a date like that, I mean, I never even would have thought of it,” he can’t spare the blonde many glances when he’s driving but every time he can Dave is both elated and staring at him. “Do I at least get to make you dinner to repay you?”

That sure is a sweet offer, and one John is definitely going to take up later, but that’s not what he has in mind for the evening, so he shakes his head. “No, not tonight. It’s your birthday; we aren’t doing anything for me, we’re doing it for you. That’s why I’m taking you back home, because you need to get dressed.”

“Dressed for…?” He looks over to Dave again, and he looks honestly confused, clueless. It makes him laugh a bit.

“Dinner.” Really, he thought it’d be obvious.

He doesn’t get a very encouraging response. “No way.” He can’t read his tone, or his face, and it makes him suddenly anxious. As the months had passed he found it easier and easier to read Dave's expressions (sometimes even with the sunglasses on) and the way he spoke but now, now he had no idea what was going through his friend's head.

“No?” John doesn’t look over again, can’t, too nervous for his response.

With just the next sentence, though, his voice isn’t flat at all. “Come on, I can make pasta again and we can eat it in bed and make out.” He sounds easy, and pretty convincing.

“As tempting as that sounds,” he starts, because _holy shit does it sound tempting_ , “I’m not going to stand for that today! It’s your special day and we have to go to a special dinner, that’s just how this works.” Honestly, you would think he would have realized this by now.

“But Johnnnn,” he actually whines. “Honestly I wanted to surprise you but there are other ways I want to repay you and I’d like to get to them.” He just barely catches Dave giving him this long look, up and down, biting his lip and it makes him go hot all over. He briefly entertains the thought of speeding up to get home, or maybe even just pulling over right here, but he tears his gaze away from the other and focuses on the road again. With a little difficulty.

“Do not give me that look, Strider,” he warns. “I’m taking you to dinner tonight and that’s final. Whatever happens afterward, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

His companion ‘hmph’s to himself and drops it, turning his attention to the window, and that’s that. He pulls into the parking lot of his apartment complex, turning the ignition off and looking at him. “Quit pouting like that and hurry upstairs, I don’t want us to wait here all evening."

He looks pretty agitated, like he’s going to flip him off or something but he just sticks his tongue out and lets himself out of the car. It worries John for a second, because maybe Dave actually _is_ mad at him, but he tries to play his concern off by joking. “Wear something sexy for me!” He calls, leaning out the window. “But like man-sexy, not lingerie or something.”

Dave turns around as he walks, finally smirking. “Too late! I already bought the panties, can’t go back now.” Brushing away the thoughts that come to mind, he rolls his eyes and watches until Dave is inside the building to turn the car back on, reach into the back seat, and grab his clothes. He packed a dark blue dress shirt, a black tuxedo vest, and black slacks. He even went as far as to bring dress shoes, hiding them all in the back of Dave’s car successfully. Maybe it's too formal for where they're going- it's definitely too formal- but hell, he wanted to dress up.

They’re parked in the back-ish of the parking lot so John doesn’t feel too nervous about changing in the car, even if he has to open a door to the cold because it’s too small to fuck around with pants. He gets his jeans off and somehow neatly puts on his slacks, slipping into his dress shoes, but then it’s the challenge of changing shirts in the dark. The door is still open when he tugs his plain tee off so he rushes with pulling his shirt on, fumbling quickly with the buttons to try to shield himself from the cold.

Laughter bubbles up in his chest as he realizes just how silly this whole thing is, changing in Dave’s car while he waits for him to come down. He smooths his hands down over his shirt, trying to pull wrinkles out of it before he puts the vest on, wondering how it would feel if those were Dave’s hands, helping him tidy up for their date. This just coaxes a soft little laugh out of him while he fits the vest on, shaking his head. He _really_ needs to stop imaging Dave in places he isn’t.

After some debate he ties up the necktie he brought, just in case. He doesn’t totally know if Dave gets how formal he meant, but he has decided he’s just going to go for it. Dave isn’t back down by the time he’s ready, having already fixed his hair as much as he can, so he putters around on his phone, answering some missed texts and checking his voice mail. Pretty soon after though a movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention, and looking up he sees Dave coming.

He's in black dress pants too, except he can't help but think they look nicer on his friend than they do on him. He has a simple, silky-looking wine red shirt, neatly buttoned, tucked into them. He even stuck on a black bow tie too, and John giggles at that. Usually they look really silly on people, but for some reason, Dave makes it look great. However the best addition to the whole thing, in John's opinion, is the ever-present sunglasses tucked into his collar.

Really, he just looks nice everywhere. Sexy, John would even say, especially when he eases back into the car. “My entire apartment smells like roses.” The flat way Dave says it makes him crack up, putting his hands up to hide his snickering. Dave cracks a smirk too, getting comfortable. “Alright, do I at least get to know where we’re eating?”

He thinks about it for a few moments. He kind of wants to keep it a surprise, but at the same time he didn’t tell him about the art studio either. “Sure. Promise not to laugh, though?”

“Noope.”

He sighs, yet starts backing out of the parking space and pulling out to the road. Why did he expect any different? “Olive Garden,” he replies, almost hesitant.

Dave almost laughs, almost. He can see it in his stupid, smug face before he covers his mouth and looks away. “Not laughing,” it comes out muffled. “It’s not even funny, I’m not laughing!” He totally is laughing, what a dick!

John tells him as much, reaching out to gently smack him on the arm. “Dude, shut up! I told you not to laugh, I told you.” Dave flinches away, trying to scoot away from him and giggling outright now.

“I’m not, it’s not even funny,” he whines and covers his face with his hands and manages to stop, after a moment. He’s a little sad to hear it stop, but it helps him feel not so embarrassed.

“I can always take you somewhere else, too. If you don’t want to go there, I mean. It’s your birthday so we can go wherever you want to.”

“Liar. I wanted to go home.”

“Well, I _guess_ I can take you back home, if you really want me to. We can always save this for tomorrow night and get up to something a little more fun.”

He doesn’t look as excited for the prospect as he should. “I can’t. Or, I probably can, I’m just gonna be busy for a couple hours tomorrow night, it’s Rose’s birthday and I always take her out.” He sighs and shakes his head. “No, I’m really happy to do this, with you, right now. I’m up for whatever you’ve got planned alright?”

Oh shit, he totally forgot Rose’s birthday was tomorrow. It’s a good thing he already got her something months ago, a signed copy of her favorite book plus a huge gift card to Barnes & Noble and a boxed set of hardbacks of her favorite book series, otherwise he would feel super shitty for forgetting. He reaches his hand out blindly, hoping to god he grabs Dave’s hand instead of his junk. He does get the right body part after a few scary seconds, and gives him a little squeeze, grinning uncontrollably. “Alright,” is his soft answer, fingers lingering around Dave’s palm before returning to the steering wheel.

* * *

Dave honestly can’t remember the last time he’d been to a nice dinner. He also doesn't eat fancy pasta, so he asks John to pick something for him, making sure to bat his lashes like it’s all a joke and not that he has no idea how to pronounce half the items on the menu. He also sighs theatrically as soon as she’s gone he starts, “You know, ever since I went to this one place with this smokin’ hot waiter, no one else matches up. I’m ruined.”

A soft blush spreads across John's face and he laughs quietly. "Oh, he ruined you huh? What was he like? Please, tell me more."

“Kinda dorky looking, actually, messy hair, bluest eyes to ever blue, fantastic ass.” He drags his eyes up and down John as he talks, smirking.

“Jeez, he sounds really hot. Did you even ask for his number?”

“Nah, I took him on a date as soon as his shift ended. Got roaring drunk, it was great.” He means that, too, he still relishes the look on John’s face when he shoved him into the fountain.

“You know, I heard about that date. I heard you shoved him into a park fountain, too.”

“Yeah, but I think he still had a good time.” Honestly, this hadn’t worked out the way he wanted to but it just makes him smile, John’s such a dork and it turns him into a dork.

“I sure bet he did, going on a date with you. That’s probably one of his favorite memories, I can almost guarantee you.” He grins wide at Dave and gives him a quick wink. Which definitely does not make him turn pink, that’s _ridiculous._

“Still can’t believe you did all this shit,” he changes topics easily, looking around. Every time he thinks about it he just wants- everything, anything, he wants to kiss the shit out of him and hug him and just bury his face in his hair, and he has to _wait,_ totally not fair.

John follows his gaze, glancing around the quiet restaurant. “Well, I mean. It’s your birthday, and you’re letting me have you all day, so I wanted to make it memorable. Because you’re awesome, and you deserve it.”

He doesn’t remember how to properly take a compliment so he just blushes and looks away and smiles wide. Although, he for one thinks that just because they’re in a restaurant, doesn't mean that he can’t kiss his boyfriend. So he leans across the table, getting on his toes for a boost, and does just that. The other's breath huffs against his lips, maybe in surprise, before he presses back all gentle. The contact last for a few seconds before John pulls back, and he feels the smile against his own lips before there’s nothing, and he sits down again, disappointed.

When he looks up, John’s got a couple fingers pressed to his lips, turned up in a small smile. “Trust me, I want to do that too. But not over a table, waiting for dinner.”

“But Joooohn, I don’t actually know how long I have to wait to do that. It could be forever! How am I supposed to know when I’m allowed to start kissing you if I don’t know what we’re doing,” he fakes a pout for the cause.

It doesn’t work. “It won’t be _that_ much longer, Dave, I promise. Actually, as soon as we leave here, you can kiss me all you want.”

“I’m holding you to that. I want you to remember you said those exact words.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, dropping his hand to his lap. “I said it because I meant it.”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply because the server’s already there, setting out steaming bowls of whatever John had picked out. Dave, of course, has no patience, taking a spoonful as soon as she’s gone again and burning his tongue. “Shit! Ah,” thank god for cold water. He flips John off when he gets laughed at, saying, “Okay so it’s hard to taste things when they’re injuring you but I’m pretty sure that was delicious.”

“Dave, it’s a soup, you’re supposed to let it cool!” He’s still snickering at him, although he has calmed down enough to blow at a spoonful of his own meal. “Jeez, it’s like you’ve never eaten soup before. “

“Shut up.” He doesn’t have a witty retort for that, other than maybe _I do what I want_ , but it’s too late now anyways. “This is all we’re doing tonight, right? Painting and dinner?”

John just shrugs as he starts eating. “Yeah, I guess it is. You seem pretty eager to get home, so.”

Okay, he feels a little bad at that. “Only because I can kiss you at home! Sorry. I’m definitely having fun, just.” Well, he can’t really say that he doesn’t want John to spend anything else on him, either. So he eats some soup. John bumps his foot under the table like he’s reassuring him and says nothing, just keeps eating.

After a minute or two, he tries another shot on conversation. “You’re going home for Christmas, right?”

“Yup. I’m leaving next Friday and I won’t be home until the tenth. I’m gonna miss it here, I think, but it’s been way too long since I’ve seen my dad.” John puts his spoon down to answer him. He nods along, thinking about some three weeks without seeing him. He just knows he’s gonna miss him like hell.

“All the more reason to spend as much time with you as I can, right?” He’s kind of sheepish, still getting used to saying things like that out loud. Physical affection he can do, easy, but it’s hard not to try and turn everything into a joke so he won’t be embarrassed.

He’s glad he said it, though, because John smiles wide, all bright and happy. “Yeah, I guess it really is.”

The meal isn’t that eventful, really. They chat and take tastes of each other’s food and flirt, and he really is glad when it’s all paid for and they can go. He’s pretty much always happier just hanging out at home, anyways.

They don’t make it out of the parking lot quite as soon as John might’ve thought, and it’s all his fault. Soon as he gets the chance, he crowds John up against the cold metal of his car door, dipping down to kiss him soft like he’s been trying to for hours. He acts like he expected it, sighing against his lips and wrapping his arms around Dave’s neck, although he does push him away a little when they hear more people exit the restaurant. “Come on, I feel like a fatty, I need to walk some of this off. Come with me?”

He just noses into his hair, determined, hoping if he presses close enough it’ll stop being so cold. “You’re not gonna get fat, you’re all tiny and muscly. Plus I know way better ways to work out.” Shame he can’t see his face, it’s half the reason he talks in innuendos. John’s hands slip down his back, grasping at the loose fabric of his thin shirt, under his shoulder blades. He decided not to wear his coat over it and hell if he’s not regretting it now.

“Get off me you big doof, I know you’re really warm but I just have one more thing for you. We only have to go on a little walk somewhere, okay?” He has a little trouble seeing John's face in the darkness, but he can make out enough to see the little crinkles by his eyes as he smiles wide.

“In a minuuuute.” He should probably be worried about how willingly he loses his cool around John. Doesn’t mean he will. “One more kiss for your freedom.”

He sighs but he’s got a playful smile on his face, and just like that, one hand slides into his hair to pull him forward into the kiss. He, of course, tries to draw it out as long as he can, tugging on John’s lip with his teeth and getting just his thumbs under the hem of his shirt so he can stroke his hip bones. John gets caught up in it for a little while, pulling him as close as he can, stroking his fingers through his hair. The tips of his fingers are freezing, but the rest of him against his body is burning hot. Eventually he gathers the last shreds of self-control he has and pushes him away gently. “Am I free to go, now?”

Dave takes a second to stare at him, pink lips and blue eyes, flushed cheeks from something other than the cold, before he nods and gets out of his personal space. “Yeah, except why the hell would you want to take a walk in this weather?” Their coats are in the car, at least.

John watches him carefully, chest still heaving as he breathes in the sharp air. “I guess I could just do it now, since you’re already close enough for me to kiss again.” What. _What does that even mean._ “Give me your hands, Dave.”

He holds them out, and if the face he makes looks dumbstruck it’s just because John isn’t making sense. “Here I thought you were out of surprises,” he mumbles.

John twines his fingers between his, holding his hands tightly. He chuckles and Dave can’t help but hear his voice waver, but it’s even more noticeable when he starts talking."So, I know we haven't really been hanging out that long. Not very long at all, actually, but it's been long enough for me to figure out that I like you. I really like you. I've literally had a crush on you since I first saw you in that stupid metro station, and then for whatever reason you've just let me keep coming back. And I'm really thankful for that.” He’s thankful. John. John is thankful. Some day, he needs to lay the facts straight for this wonderful idiot. “Anyway, um... I know we've been on a lot of dates and shit, and I just wanted to tell you that I'm not doing that with anyone else. I mean, I never was, but... Yeah. So. What I'm trying to ask, if just, if you want to like, go steady with me?"

When out of his comfort zone, he falls back on what he knows best. Unfortunately. “Shit, Egbert, make it sound like we’re in a fifties movie, let me just grab my poodle skirt, we already went out on the town though, maybe you shoulda told me earlier it’s too late to go dancing now.” As usual, nothing he says makes sense. “Guess it’s time for the final number, Olivia Newton’s got nothing on me in a cat suit.” _Shut /up/, oh my god!_ He squeezes John’s hands tight, taking note of how numb his fingers feel. “John.” He doesn’t want to do this, has to. “John, some day one of us is gonna- your soulmate’s still out there, what’s gonna happen then?”

John’s looking at him with a bit of confusion written all over his face, before it falls into something sad. His cold hand leaves his own and rests on his cheek, holding him still while John presses the softest kiss on his lips. “Trust me,” he whispers against his skin, “I’m not going to leave you too.”

Sometimes he wishes John wasn't able to just instantly guess everything about him, that he didn't know what he was so afraid of. He could destroy him so easily, and instead he decides to show him there's nothing to ever be afraid of. This time when he wraps his arms around him and hugs him tight, he's not trying to thank him, he needs it to steady himself and so that maybe, John really won't go. "I'm all yours." His voice doesn't even shake, so it doesn’t matter if it's a little quiet.

"So is that a yes?" John laughs breathily into his ear, holding him firmly against his chest. He starts leaving butterfly kisses over his hair, hand just toying with the strands.

“Mm-hm!” He twists his head and is rewarded with their noses bumping together and their lips barely touching. “That’s what you wanted to do? Ask me to be your boyfriend?” He’d already, mentally, made the change, but now it was official and oh, wow. He has a boyfriend.

“Yep.” John’s laughing again, tilting every now and then to kiss him quickly. “I was originally going to do it when we were walking around the Prometheus Fountain down in Rockefeller, throwing coins into the water and making wishes, and I-” He cuts himself off with a huff, closing his eyes. “Whatever, I’m just so happy you said yes.”

When they’re not kissing on the lips, he goes right along with it, kissing John’s forehead and his temple and his hair, rubbing their hands together because both of them are frozen solid. “Shit, I ruined your romantic plan? I’m almost sorry. Almost.”

“I wasn’t expecting any differently. Now get in the car so I can get you home, okay? It’s cold and as much as I adore kissing you, I’m getting a little tired of feeling you shiver.” Funnily enough, he hadn’t even noticed. Too busy focusing on John.

“You’re the one with the keys.”

“You’re the one pinning me to the car.”

“...Hush.” Finally, reluctantly, he lets go of him, steps back and half-stumbles around to his side. The doors unlock and they both rush inside, John fumbling with the cold keys to start the ignition and get them warm. Dave’s the one that reaches over to the heat on full, cursing loudly when he remembers that it has to warm up first and all they’re gonna get is cold air. “Fuck, okay, new rule, all romantic moments have to be indoors where there’s central heating.”

“Stop being a baby,” John teases him as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Hey, you’re just as cold as I am!”

“But I’m not a whiny baby about it.” Dave shoves his middle finger in his face, just to make sure he sees it.

* * *

Second verse, same as the first. Dave seems caught up in his own head, staring out the window the whole way, so John leaves him to it. He’s busy thinking too; there’s been a little worried voice in the back of his mind most of the night, mainly wondering how he’s going to get home. He could probably stay with Dave, of course, but he’s already done that so many times, and he doesn’t want to impose. Jake probably made something for them to eat too, and he has a test coming up in a few days he really should study for. So he’ll probably end up just walking to the metro station and catching a train home, despite the negative temperatures outside.

Thinking about the weather just makes him shiver, his grip on Dave’s steering wheel tightening. Remembering the last time he was in it has the same effect; Dave’s lips on his, his arms around him, their breath clouding up between them and making his glasses fog up. He tries to ignore the memories, push them away until he can get home, or at least until he’s alone again. It kind of works, since he doesn’t really think about it again until they get to Dave’s apartment complex and he finds a close spot to reluctantly park the car. He doesn’t turn it off just yet, basking in the warmth before he has to face the outdoors again.

A sigh comes from the seat beside him and Dave stretches, says, “Maybe we should just stay in the car. Where it’s warm.” He laughs because that’s pretty much exactly what he was just thinking.

“Yeah agreed. I’m already comfortable.”

“We don’t even have to sleep,” and there’s the eyebrow waggle. Of course. He never stopped, did he?

“What do you propose we do instead?”

“Well, y’know, the back seat’s pretty big…” He always says just the most perfect things to make him blush.

“What? Oh no, dude, come on. On your birthday? That’s trashy.”

He actually looks a little flustered, and it’s so nice to see that- without his glasses, Dave is an open book. “Yeah, I’ll admit that, but um... would you want to come up? Like seriously not to do anything other than drink hot chocolate and sleep if you don’t want to, it’s just, really late, and.”

 _Oh, thank god_ is his first thought. Then he starts to realize, quickly, what Dave’s asking, and he has to look away because even if it’s dark, he’s still scared Dave’s going to see the blush plainly written on his face. “Um… Yeah, I would really like that. If you don’t mind.”

“Great!” He feels more than sees Dave dart over to peck him on the cheek before he finally opens the door and slips out his side.  WIth a grin he turns off the car and follows, barely remembering to grab the bag with his clothes from the backseat before catching up with Dave.

“Thanks for offering, man. I wasn’t too keen on walking home or to the metro in this weather.”

“No problem; I wouldn’t want you to have to, anyways.” That warms him up inside and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out for Dave’s hand, intertwining their fingers as they head up to his apartment. Six-b, he still remembers. He reluctantly lets go so Dave can unlock the door, but he’s in as fast as he can get without shoving through first. The swords don’t even bother him anymore, just another little thing about Dave and Dave’s apartment that he loves so much, just like the boxes in the closet, the small robot spice shakers.

Dave’s heading straight for his room, and John doesn’t realize he’s stripping down until there’s a freed bowtie sailing through the air, landing on the couch with a soft plop. “I love formal clothing but fuck, no one likes actually wearing it.” He just shrugs, tucks his clothes into the crook of his elbow, and starts unbuttoning his vest. He loves wearing formal clothes, but not for very long, so he can understand where Dave is coming from.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He laughs back, pulling his vest off. He can see Dave’s arms moving like he’s unbuttoning his shirt, and his whole body stalls for a moment before he mutters something and flicks his shirt off. John doesn’t even notice him pulling his sleeves off, or anything he does next, because the only thing he’s focusing on is the stark black right in front of him. There it is, _Play me a song_ , and now that he’s up close, he can recognize that handwriting instantly.

It’s his own, of course. He takes another step forward and hesitantly reaches out, brushing his fingers against it. Dave flinches, muscles tensing and stands straighter, then stays still, like he’s waiting. John’s hand lingers for another moment or so before he drops it, clearing his throat. “Uh, sorry. Sorry, don’t know what came over me.” He twists his head around to look at him, then turns around completely, looking at him like he’s searching for something, or maybe just reading whatever words his face tells.

He can’t see if Dave likes what he sees because he steps right into John’s space, wrapping him in a hug. “It’s okay." He’s cheek is right up against Dave’s chest, his skin smooth and warm, and he nuzzles into him as he wraps his arms around his waist. He doesn’t even have anything to say at this point, neither of them do, so he just hugs him back.

After a minute, Dave steps back, ruffles his hair and just like that, he has no idea what he’s thinking. “Sweaters, John. And sweat pants. Wanna borrow some?”

He bunches up his clothes again and nods. “Yes please! I only have these clothes and then my tee and jeans,” he laughs. His host nods and hurries to his room, shucking his shirt on his computer chair and going through his drawers to find clothes for them both.

In the meantime John tries to undress himself, fucking with his tie for an embarrassingly long time, glad that Dave is turned around. He just starts to unbutton his shirt underneath it instead, looking a little helpless when he turns around again. “Can you help?”

He steps up to the challenge, head ducked down so he can look at what he’s doing, but of course he can’t just leave it alone. “Did someone else have to tie it, too?”

What a horrifying accusation. Of course he can tie his own tie. “I know how to tie a tie, I’m not sixteen,” he scoffs, feigning offense. “I just can’t ever get them off. I always do them too tight, and I have to cut all my nails off to play the piano.”

Just like that, he has the knot loosened. “Coulda’ fooled me.” Before he can get mad at him for what’s definitely a dig at his height, since he said the same the first goddamn time they met, Dave tugs on his tie- playfully if his smirk is anything to go by- and swoops in for a kiss.

It’s a little clunky since Dave just kind of came at him, but he doesn’t hesitate in smiling against his lips and hooking an arm around his neck. More than anything, it’s sweet, and they’re both smiling when it’s over. He expects Dave to straighten up first from where they’re breathing each other’s air, and he does, but not without kissing him on the cheek first. He’s left to finish undressing as Dave pulls on a sweatshirt and shamelessly drops his slacks. He absolutely averts his gaze for that, going as far as to turn around as he neatly folds his shirt, dropping it on the floor by his feet. He kicks off his shoes and quickly changes into his sweatpants, already feeling his face heat up. He tugs the shirt on over his head before turning again, and wow, everything he’s wearing is too big for him.

“I feel like a kid again, wearing my dad’s clothes.”

“Mmm, it’s cute.”

“Shut up,” he reaches up to flip him off, but he has to wait a couple moments for his sleeve to fall down. Dave grins at him and he can’t exactly refuse his own answering smile. “Whatever! You promised me hot chocolate, are we going to do that or not?”

He shrugs, in the middle of folding his clothes. “Dunno, man, hot chocolate takes effort when we could just be lazy.” Good point. He would rather lay down and be close to Dave than go wait on a hot drink.

“I’ll make some for us tomorrow.” For some reason it gets him half a smile, and as soon as their clothes are all neatly folded and the overhead light is replaced with a lamp, Dave goes for the bed, crawling up to the headboard and gesturing for him to come over. He kneels on the bed and joins him, crawling on his knees until he can slip under the covers and next to Dave. “Happy birthday, Dave,” he whispers and pecks him once. _I love you so goddamn much._

The lamp sits behind him, meaning he can see all of Dave’s face and how it heats up before he rearranges himself, moving closer and a little farther down the bed so he can wrap his arm around his stomach and hide his face in his neck.

John wraps his arms tight around Dave’s shoulders, hugging him as close as he can. He strokes his fingers across the tattoo on his left, burying his face in his hair. He starts pressing kisses against his head when he feels Dave shaking in his arms, and he tightens his grip, because he doesn’t know what’s wrong, or what’s right,  so he just tries to offer as much comfort as he can. Dave presses closer, too, like he wants to hide there forever and the way he’s breathing just confirms that he’s crying, harsh warm breaths against his neck.

He almost speaks up, asks him _what’s wrong, why are you crying, how can I fix it,_ before Dave’s kissing his neck. Wait, is he? He concentrates and no, no, he’s saying something, what is he saying? “I can’t hear you,” he murmurs into the silence.

He waits a moment and then out of nowhere, Dave pushes himself up, scrambling awkwardly backwards until he’s sitting cross-legged next to him and he can’t see him very well because _he is frantically wiping at his eyes oh no what did I do_. He can still hear him breathing raggedly and then he chokes out, "I love you." Something in his brain glitches because he can't see anything, his vision goes dark, and his breath catches in his throat. He's pretty sure his blood is freezing over too because he's still everywhere, he can't hear anything but Dave's voice and his crying and his own heartbeat, slowed down or maybe too fast, he can't even tell anymore.

"I love you, so fucking much, and I know I shouldn't say that and I don't fucking know why I'm crying, I'm sorry." His words are interspersed with sniffles and all these pitiful noises, he can barely talk and John just wants to launch forward, scoop him up into a big hug and never let him go, just to make him shut up, to stop crying and stop making all of those horrible sounds that stab at John’s heart like shards of a broken glass.

So he does. He pulls Dave as close to him as he can get when they’re sitting like this, pulling him halfway on top of him, half in his lap. He’s laughing softly, because _there’s not even anything to cry over so why is Dave crying and why does he feel like crying too_. “I was just thinking the same thing,” he admits quietly. “I was just thinking the same goddamn thing, I love you so much. I’m always thinking about you, remembering the stupid stuff we do together, the little things you do with me, your breath against my lips. God, I can’t stop thinking about you, I love you.”

He’s just blabbing out everything that’s coming to his mind now, whispering it into the dark room, to Dave but also to the warm air. Pretty soon, though, Dave stops him by covering his mouth with one hand, loosely. He waits semi-patiently as Dave rubs his sleeve over his own face one last time, coughing softly. “Okay, no more crying, sorry.” He sits up straighter in his lap and hugs around his shoulders, breathing out slow. “It’s so stupid, I just kept thinking about the fucking roses, and everything you did today, and then what do you know, I’m crying like a baby.”

John can’t hold back his stupidly wide grin as he holds him, bringing a hand up to brush his hair away from his face. “It’s okay, you know I’m here for you, even if you’re acting like a baby.” His hand falls away from his face but stays running through his hair, playing with the soft strands. “I said it before and I’ll say it again: I only did all that because you deserve it. Also because there was a sale.” Dave laughs, and pleased, he laughs with him.

They stay like that for who knows how long, until they’re both breathing even and no one’s crying. Dave is more affectionate than he’s ever been, but then, so is he. The blonde twists around until they’re chest-to-chest, legs on either side of his hips and then almost always keeps moving, playing with his hair or nuzzling his neck. He's continuously squirming, even if it's only slightly, so he rests his hands lightly on his side.

Dave flinches away from him and it makes him laugh a little. “I’m not going to tickle you,” he promises with a chuckle. “I just want to touch you a bit.”

He breathes, “Okay,” and John looks down for a minute to watch him wrap his fingers in the bottom of his shirt. He can tell Dave’s just messing with it, but he still gets goosebumps wherever his fingers bump against his skin. Eventually instead of his shirt Dave seizes his fingers, brushing over his hands and intertwining them. He kisses his cheek, below his ear and he can feel his laughter more than he can hear it, kissing down his neck and his adams apple and then resting against his skin. The light brushes of his lips send shivers down his spine, and he sighs contentedly as he relaxes underneath him.

For the second time that night Dave abruptly starts scrambling away from him, muttering “One sec,” once he has slipped off the bed and padding to the living room. After a minute or two, music starts playing from the speakers around the room, making him jump. It sounds like a soundtrack- his favorite- soft music with no words and when Dave comes back he nudges John backwards to lay down again.

They spend something like hours curled up together, never saying much. The only reason he knows when Dave is asleep is that he finally falls still.

He is first to wake, for once. He isn't very disorientated anymore, having spent enough nights in this bed to start to recognize exactly where he is when he comes back to consciousness again. But feeling Dave on top of him, warm and smooth, is really nice, especially when he has his face burrowed into his chest and a head tucked under his arm like this. His other hand is resting on his own tummy, rising and falling with his deep breaths.

He doesn’t usually like waking up first, but this way he gets to see Dave sleeping, which he’s never done before. He looks over to him, the light from the lap still illuminating his face as much as the light filtering in from the crack in the curtains. His features are soft and relaxed, more tranquil than John has ever seen him, and he can hear the lengthy inhales and exhales from the boy beside him. His lips still look as soft as they felt on his skin last night and he resists the urge to lean in and kiss him awake. Instead, he carefully untangles himself from Dave’s grip, grimacing as he tries not to wake him. He manages to get out successfully, pressing a quick peck to Dave’s temple before shuffling out to the kitchen to make some breakfast.

He had totally forgotten about the roses, almost gotten used to the prominent smell filling the apartment, but there they stand in all their glory: both bright and dark red, messily placed into various empty bottles and cups crammed onto any counter space that could fit them. Especially around the coffeemaker- that just won’t do, so he gathers up a bunch of cups and starts putting them wherever he can fit them in the living room; on the side table, on some of the shelves, sitting atop the stereo. _That actually looks pretty nice,_ he thinks to himself as he starts the machine brewing. As he’s waiting, he gets the idea to go ahead and scatter the rest of the roses throughout the apartment, so he does.

It doesn’t take too long. Most of the time is actually spent walking to and from Dave’s bedroom, since that’s where the majority of the flowers end up. He’s in the middle of rearranging his desk to make space for the bottles when he catches sight of some pictures tacked up onto the wall, photos and sketches. They pique his curiosity but he’s still got an armful of smelly flowers, so he finds places to put the rest of them down before returning to the pages.

What he sees is definitely not what he expects. He looks at one of the photos first, confused for a moment before leaning closer and then he realizes it’s _him_ , asleep on Dave’s couch. He doesn’t find it weird, not like he probably would with anyone else. Really, he just thinks it’s cute, and it makes him laugh a little.

John turns to the sketches. There are a couple of Dave himself, several of Rose, and then quite a few of him. He looks closely at them and geez, they really do all look realistic. Dave even got the slight indention in his chin, where he had to get stitches from slipping in a bathtub when he was two, and the little birthmark on his nose. He remembered all of his and Rose’s piercings, rings or just little holes marking the spots where they would be. There’s another person there, too, one he hasn’t seen except briefly in a few photos. She’s easy to recognize this close-up, though; the same nose as Dave, the same lips as Rose, a similar eye shape to the both of them. It must be of their mother.

He has to pull himself away from them when there’s a steamy kind of sound coming from the kitchen- coffee’s ready. Luckily he’s already done with all of the flowers, so he just has to split the package of hot chocolate into two cups of coffee and take them into Dave’s bedroom. He is still sleeping soundly so he puts the mugs down on the nightstand.

John maneuvers onto the bed and lightly strokes the back of his fingers on Dave’s face until he wakes up, which is actually pretty soon. He shifts, breathes in deeper and flinches his hand away, humming like he’s annoyed.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he snickers, watching Dave wake up.

He hums again (more like a groan, actually) and blinkblinkblinks his eyes open. “Morning. What-” He sits up fast, twisting around to look at all the roses. John can’t stop smiling as he looks around, eyes still bleary from sleep but open wide to take in the room around him. When he turns back to John he just sighs, “All we need is some talking animals. An’ a loving duet. Fucking Disney bullshit.” Oh, right, Dave’s not a morning person.

“Lighten up, wouldja? They were cluttering the kitchen. I brought you coffee.”

Well, that makes him perk up. “Good boyfriend. Best Disney prince.” He makes grabby hands in his general direction, even though he is clearly not holding any coffee. The b-word makes him blush so, to hide it, he twists around to get a cup, handing it to Dave before grabbing his own. He guzzles his without blinking, leaning back on one hand and looking around again once he’s drained like half of it. How the hell, that was just freshly brewed! “Coffee and roses. I’m serious, you should audition for Disney.”

He brushes off the compliment with a wave of his hand. “No way, man! I’m not handsome enough to be a Disney prince. They don’t have weird little blobs of color on their noses, just perfectly clear skin.”

He leans forward to examine said blob of color before John shoves him back, laughing. “Get back, I know you’ve seen it already.” He gets a special presentation of Dave Strider’s tongue for  his troubles, before he chugs the rest of his coffee and throws the blankets off himself. John just watches as he crawls over to set the cup back on the table then curls back up, substituting John’s leg for his pillow whether he likes it or not. “The next time you stick that tongue out at me, I’m going to bite it off.”

Of course he can’t just take the warning and back off. No, he does it again, wiggling his eyebrows. So he sits up and leans over him, baring his teeth playfully. He doesn’t quite go for the bite. Dave doesn’t even stop wiggling his eyebrows so he leans down over him and sticks his own tongue out, brushing it against Dave’s just briefly. He tastes like coffee. Despite any sparks of questionably existent common sense, he feels fingers at the back of his head pushing him into a shitty kiss- upside down kisses just don’t work, unless you’re Spiderman. He’s not, so he pushes back, grinning. “You taste like coffee and chocolate.”

“So do you.” With that, he turns his head to the side and closes his eyes, so he pulls his own cup from the table again and keeps sipping at it. Eventually they’ll have to say goodbye again, but for now there’s coffee and roses and they can sleep a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shay’s notes: sobbing noises i really don’t want school to start i just wanna keep writing and thinking about this fic for forever


	11. Postcard From 1952

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renee’s notes: Heyo! Hahaha yeah we’re giant pieces of shit this chapter has been written for over a month we just weren’t able to edit it except in bits and pieces but now it is finally here!!!! and then it’s just one chapter left, probably. I don't even remember what this chapter's about. I don't remember what this fic is about. Oops. There's some mood music embedded in the beginning.  
> By the way, the ending was Shay’s idea.

[Being John Egbert’s boyfriend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kv-yJywbtDI) does not suddenly make life perfect. It does, however, make life the best he’s ever had it. He’s _happy_ , from the moment he wakes up and then it _doesn’t stop_ , he’s happy all the time. His bad days are that much better, and rarer, and if he’s ever low it’s still higher than ever.

The magic wears off pretty fast, simply because he doesn’t get to see John again and won’t until January, but all it takes is a second to text him, call him, pester him and he’s right back with the warmth in his stomach and stupid smile on both of their faces. It feels like he spends more time talking to John than his mom, which is amazing considering all the family shenanigans he gets to hear about going on in Washington. The Stri-londes have their own shenanigans, of course (so many goddamn snowball fights and swordfights in the snow. Dirk teaches him several new moves and the girls get them to model their skirts). Still, cupcake fights sound infinitely more awesome.

While John’s staying at his home all month, the four of them drive back to the city for New Years, showing their uncle the newest additions to New York. They all get significantly wasted but he can _just_ remember calling John at midnight and, apparently, whooping in his ear then promising to love him more than he loves shitty pizza (he only knows all this because John calls him the next morning to laugh at his hangover-induced pain).

They agree to spend the day together the Saturday after John gets back, and they’re so swamped he can’t even convince John to spend an hour together for lunch any time before then. Months after he met him and he’s still always excited when he knows John’s coming over.

He’s the one who suggests they go on a walk, because even though it’s snowing out he doesn’t think he could sit around and watch movies, when John is _right there_ , there are so many more interesting things to do. So they get their winter coats and those silly, fluffy earmuffs that would look stupid on anyone else (Dave included) but with John’s messy hair and wide grin looked cute as fuck, and head out the door.

When Dave had first moved into town, who knows how many months ago, he had spent a few days wandering around, exploring. Finally, it’s time to eat the long-expired fruits of his labor, since John seems to have no idea where the hell he’s going. “I told you, man, I don’t get out much! I don’t know what’s over here.”

“Lame. You should explore more.” He’d always enjoyed it, helped him find what places no one else came to.

“There’s nothing where I live but college campus for miles.”

“Okay, point.” He has a place in mind, this old arcade just a few blocks away by now. He idly swings their hands from where he’d grabbed his earlier, tugging him along on this freezing adventure.

“Where are we going, anyways? Somewhere with heating, hopefully?” John turns to him, expression curious but also maybe a little suspicious. He can’t take him seriously though, since little flakes of snow are landing in his hair and melting as soon as they touch.

He squeezes his hand, smirking a little. Snow melts the same way on his glasses, only it’s much less endearing. “Well, we’re going to be inside, so...” He offers. He has no idea what the heating will be like. John raises an eyebrow but says nothing, just strokes his cold thumb over the back of his hand.

They end up passing where they need to be because Dave can’t remember if the building’s before or after the metro station. The entrance is actually behind another building, in this little circle with a fountain in the middle. There are two huge windows in the front wall so they can see inside to the ugly yellow walls and machines. As far as he knows, no one comes back here but the people who work in the restaurant out front. Outside, it smells like the deep fried food inside. The faded sign up top proclaims “Blast Arcade,” and John- doesn’t seem impressed. Admittedly, it’s not the most romantic place.

He wants to prove how awesome it is, though, so he leads him inside. It’s just like he remembered it; holes in the walls where people had stabbed through with the pool sticks, uncomfortable chairs and tables pushed up against one wall. There’s a smattering of different games, all the classics like Stacker and the one where you have to roll a ball up the mountain, but most of them aren’t worth playing. In fact, in one corner stands the hollowed out carcass of what a few months ago was an old-school Pacman game, now just a screenless shell. The one visible pool stick is lying on the ground, and the air hockey game doesn’t have a puck anymore. The only decent machine is the DDR game, and even that glitched out sometimes, showing a computer screen and an error message. It’s pretty loud but the noise feels hollow, one of the machines shouting “Stacker!” every few seconds, the DDR playing bad Japanese music, and the single speaker on the wall playing the same three songs on loop. Still, it has it’s charms. It’s almost always empty and it’s got this old aura, peaceful.

John's looking around in silence, but there's a grin slowly spreading across his face. It pushes away the little bits of doubt hiding in the back of Dave’s mind. “This place looks awesome."

It gets him to smile a little too, letting go of him finally so he can get a couple dollars out of his wallet for tokens. “I know right? Shitty, but awesome.”

As soon as they’re detached he’s wandering off like a child, looking at every machine he passes. “Do these even still work?”

He glances over his shoulder but doesn’t pay much attention, trying to dig coins out of the little tray. “Most of them, yeah, but I’m not sure how many will actually give you a prize.” He knows at least one that doesn’t, and he’s still bitter about it. He earned that Pikachu plush, dammit! “Wanna play DDR?”

John hovers back over, nodding. “Hell yeah dude, I haven’t played in forever.”

He starts pushing in tokens, glad when it stops the too-loud music for a second, pocketing the rest. “Bet I can kick your ass.”

“Shut up, Strider, you’ve never seen me dance.” He steps onto the machine, looking over the songs, and Dave stands lamely behind him.

“We danced together like, a month ago. I dipped you. It was maybe the most gay thing I’ve ever done.”

He glances over to shoot him a dirty look. “Uh, remember that time you pinned me to your car and made out with me? Because I seem to recall that being pretty gay, too.”

“We danced to _violin dubstep_. I don’t think we were even dating then!”

He doesn’t get a reply to that, just, “Oh, oh! Eye of the Tiger! Come on, we have to do that one.” He rolls his eyes, wasting a minute bickering about it-"We are NOT doing 'Eye of the Tiger', you are so lame." "No, come on! It'll be great!"-before he just hits the enter button anyways. He goes through the settings for a minute, changing his side to medium difficulty.

“You want easy, or like, baby’s first dance easy?” He can’t resist riling him up a little more.

“Fuck you, put it on medium.” He shoves Dave lightly, not enough to even move him, really. “Start the game, come on, I’m pumped to kick your ass now.” Oh, it’s _on._

He fixes the settings and starts the song up, and he’s immediately on a roll. With his particular choice of athletics, he’s perfectly tuned and memorized his body for years, and for this first game he never misses a note. John isn’t quite as good and he can’t blame him, but he stays pretty close in score until the very end when the screen flashes ‘WINNER’ on his own side.

He laughs, taking a second to stick a tongue out at his boyfriend. “Told you!” He doesn’t gloat more than that, (yet), looking through the songs some more. Oh, fuck yes, they have the Pon Pon song.

“No, I’m not dancing to this stupid ass song.” John protests, glaring at him.

He presses the button, smug as hell. “Oh, look at that, I guess you are.”

John huffs and steps off the machine, crossing his arms at him. “Not doing it.”

That’s no fun. “Come on, don’t be a baby.” He grabs one of his arms, tugging half-assedly.

He refuses to budge, literally turning his nose up to his advances. “No way.”

The music’s already started but there’s literally no point in playing if John won’t. “What do you have against Pon Pon?”

“Have you even _heard_ it? Why do you like that?”

Any other time he would laugh. “I don’t. I just hit it cuz I recognized it, and it’s funny.”

That gets him to give up and step back on, sighing. “Don’t you dare tell Rose I did this.”

Victory! By now the song’s probably halfway over and their scores are in the dumps, but he steps right back on and gets to it. John lightens up as they dance, playfully shoving at him to try to throw him off. It works a couple times, and he only gets worse when he distracts himself trying to shove back. “Fuck off! Cheating asshole.”

It’s enough that he loses, and he’s just a little annoyed. “I got you so bad!” John chokes out between laughs and snorts.

He flips him off, resting against the game for a minute. “You cheated, dickweed, otherwise you couldn’t even touch this!”

His boyfriend sends him a cheeky smirk and shrugs. “Probably. We’ll never know now though, since you lost so bad.”

“One more round.” Resist the urge to call him an asshole again, there are so many better insults in the world. Just to fuck with him, he chooses the same song, and then changes his setting over to hard. “I can do this better than you even at a disadvantage.”

John huffs but keeps his own at medium, reaching over to start the game. Dave is fucking _determined_ , there’s no way he’s losing. He hasn’t gotten this competitive in a while, but now all he wants is to kick his boyfriend’s ass, love be damned.

And he does; at the end of the game he’s up in score by almost two hundred points. It’s their last round of the game and he fucking crows his triumph, smirking as obnoxiously as he knows how. And then collapsing to sit right on the board, catching his breath. _I shouldn’t have picked hard._

John laughs at him, leaning against the console. “Haha! That’s what you get for bumping up your level, dumbass.”

He mutters a “shut the fuck up,” and tries not to pay him any more mind. The shitty song from the title menu has started blaring again and it’s making his head hurt a little. After a minute, he lays back on the metal, arms behind his head for a makeshift pillow. John snickers and sits down beside him, carding his fingers through his hair. If he was a cat, he’d be purring up a storm. “That was fun.”

“Yeah, it was,” John says back, and the way he’s messing with his hair is a little suspicious. Too careful.

“What are you doing?”

“Playing with your hair, what do you think?”

“Are you braiding it?”

“Of course not, your hair is too short to braid.” lies

“Hmph.” Whatever, let him do whatever he wants. It feels nice and as long as they’re alone together, he’s content.

* * *

They hang around a bit longer, chatting about whatever came to mind, before Dave points out that they could be cuddling a lot better at home. John agrees, but he had sweat a lot and he knows that when he goes outside, it’s going to cool very quickly and stick to him extremely uncomfortably, so he wants to change as soon as possible. He doesn’t bring it up until they’re outside, though, when he’s brushing out the little braids in Dave’s hair he hadn’t already gotten himself. “Do you want to come over? It’s a little ways away and probably dirty, but I kind of want to change, and your clothes don’t exactly fit me right.”

“Sure thing. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your dorm.” That makes him laugh, because even with them hanging out all the time, they’ve never even been to his place. Granted, Dave was usually the one to invite him over, and he never knew if his dorm was empty. Jake just came and went as he pleased, rarely telling John about his plans unless they somehow directly involved him. He doesn’t even know where Jake is currently, whether or not the dorm was free, but it’s too late to back out now.

“It’s not really much to see, to be honest. Just a little kitchenette sort of thing, and bad movie posters everywhere.”

“Are there endearing childhood mementos?” His voice reeks of mischief. John would know, he is the king.

“There are old VHS tapes with Fox and the Hound and other Disney classics, but that’s about it.”

“Damn. I was hoping for naked bath baby pictures.” He pulls away from John’s hands in his hair, turning to face him properly. John snorts at him and shakes his head.

“There might be some in a few photo albums, I’m not sure. Maybe a magnet on the mini-fridge, so check there, too.” He laughs, honestly not sure if there are any pictures on the fridge, but he knows that there is definitely a bunch in the photo booklets on his shelf.

“Will do. Shall we?” He nods and holds his hand out. Dave takes it happily, and he’ll probably never get over how happy he looks every time they do something small like that. How Dave’s smiles never fail to show how in love he is.

He doesn’t know exactly how to get home from here, so he just leads Dave in the general direction of where he _thinks_ they need to go. John’s eyes are all over the place: the way Dave’s hair falls across his face, people walking around them, the sky, Dave, people behind the windows of shops they pass, Dave. He pulls out his phone and types with one hand.

EB: coming home now. i’m also bringing someone over, so get out of sight or out of the dorm! :)

Dave’s fingers twitch against his own as he pockets his phone again. The little involuntary action just prods at that nagging bit of his mind, constantly worrying about the status of his relationship with Dave. At this point, it is clear that they are going steady. They’ve been on dates, they’ve had talks, they actually solidified it, made it clear what they had. John knows there isn’t much that would push Dave away now, not really, but he’s still nervous about their whole tattoo thing.

He’s seen Dave’s tattoo. He knows it’s his words. Dave has to know it, too, there’s no way he could be this blind for this long. So if they both knew, and they were both still willing to try this thing out, why hadn’t they talked about it? Why was John still nervous? It didn’t really make sense to him at all. They haven’t told each other yet, but at this point in their relationship, there was really no need to keep it a secret anymore. The entire reason John hasn’t brought it up yet is just because he doesn’t want to scare Dave away. But as he glances over at him, blonde hair haloed by the sunlight, hand tight around his fingers, he doesn’t really think he’s going anywhere.

 _Today is the day,_ John thinks to himself for the first time in what feels like forever.

With that realization, it’s not long until they’re on campus. He leads Dave to his dorm building, pointing out things on the way- where the cafeteria and other food in general is, the different class-centric buildings (the ones for science, music, and theater are much bigger than the ones for language and religion), the practice fields for spots. A few glances over at Dave makes him think he isn’t terribly interested, and why would he be? It’s just a college campus, probably just like the one he sees all the time. Really though, John’s just talking because he’s nervous as hell after his decision. “This is building D, and I’m in 215 with a friend from high school. I don’t know if he’s home at the moment, he didn’t answer my text.” He takes him up the stairs, kind of hoping Jake isn’t there, but he won’t make too big of a fuss if they have company.

"Shame. I was hoping to get the roommate version of John Egbert: ‘God, he snores like a motherfucker’ or ‘dude never does his laundry, lazy ass.’" Both of those things are true but the way Dave just grins at him, so smug and cheeky, John has to push at him as the door to the stairwell slams shut behind them.

“God no, you’re never hearing any of that stuff. Jake’s got so much dirt on me, it isn’t even funny.” He says as he unlocks the door to his home, opening it up. “Welcome to Casa de Egbert-English. I guess.”

 _Oh, geez, I really haven’t done laundry,_ John laments as he looks inside. There are clothes all over the ground and his bed, close enough for him to kick a stray shirt off to the side. Open textbooks and neat spirals are scattered across his desk and his unmade bed, which is connected to the wall on their right, several drawers underneath. There’s a pretty long shelf on the wall a little ways above his bed, full of stacks of DVDs, tiny stuffed animals and other figurines, his photo album he swiped from his home before he left, and a small black booklet that is _definitely_ not a journal. If you look close enough at his bed, between all the books and his laptop on it too, you can just see a fuzzy tip of the ear of his stuffed bunny sticking out from the mess of blankets.

Maybe two feet behind John’s bed is a desk and chair, both covered in papers and pens. The same desk and chair is reflected on Jake’s half of the room, except his is so incredibly neater, with a stack of beside his laptop.

His whole side of the room is neat, really, compared to John’s. The bed is actually made and  there’s nothing on it except the occasional comic book, and the floor is mostly empty of clothes.

Immediately to their left, in front of that closet, is a sink with a pathetic excuse for counter space and a cabinet underneath, toothbrushes next to the hand towel. A door right next to it leads to a very small bathroom.

When John ushers his guest inside and closes the door, the front right corner of the room is revealed to be a small kitchenette with a mini fridge, a foot and a half of counter space, and some wall cabinets. They have no stove, except for a small portable hot plate (made for camping) plugged into the wall. That, a toaster, and also a microwave all somehow fit in the small space.

And of course, who could forget about the ratty movie posters covering literally every available space on the wall? Classic movie advertisements are tacked up all over, featuring amazing titles such as Armageddon, Failure to Launch, all of the National Treasure movies, Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, Weekend At Bernie’s and so many others layer over each other. Probably a hundred pairs of eyes seem to be watching them at any given moment, set beautifully in the faces of Matthew McConaughey, Bill Cosby, Nicolas Cage, Bruce Willis, Liv Tyler, Camilla Luddington, Harrison Ford, Zoe Saldana, Christian Bale, and so many other grade-A actors all posed in _totally fucking badass_ shots.

This is something that obviously creeps both you and Jake the fuck out but neither of you can deny just how cool your posters are, so they stay up. “Sorry it’s a mess,” he apologizes, hand up to rub at the nape of his neck.

Dave doesn’t seem bothered by the mess, but rather put off by the posters. John can't blame him. “I. I changed my mind. Can we go to my place?”

John laughs, and it's fueled just as much by nervousness as it is Dave's reaction to finally seeing his home. "If you want to walk all the way there or to the metro in this weather, be my guest. I'm going to stay here and make hot chocolate."

He shakes his head and makes himself at home on John’s bed, shedding his heavy coat. It’s just quiet enough that he can hear him when he mutters “They’re not even good movies,” so  he scoffs and walks closer, taking Dave’s coat for him and hanging it up in the closet. He’s looking around at all the books and papers, trying not to sit on them, and he just _knows_ that he’ll find the bunny.

Which of course, he must have cursed it, because the next thing he hears is “Jooooohn,” in this tone of voice that is just way too smug. Dave’s holding her up by one ear, the one that’s a little battered, and he winces openly. “What’s this?”

“Mine,” he says, reaching out for it. “You’ll hurt her, be careful.”

Dave pulls her back, adjusting his grip so he’s less likely to damage the ear, looking it over. “That’s cute. Do you sleep with her? Is she your snuggle buddy, John?”

He sits on the bed too, frowning slightly. “She just might be.” His boyfriend’s grin doesn’t get any less obnoxious, stroking her fur before handing her back over. Then he goes for the shelf over the bed, not touching anything thankfully. John adjusts his bunny in his lap and leans back to make room for him to kneel in front of it. “Anything exciting up there?”

He points to the photo album. “It’s all pretty interesting, but this is the only exciting thing I can think of. Are there baby pictures?”

“Yup. That’s full of every single naked baby bath I’ve ever had. The only pictures in that are naked baby John.”

“Great!” Sarcasm or no, he’s taking the book down, sitting back so he can look at it properly. “It’s- Can I look?” He nods at him to go ahead, so Dave starts flipping, not looking for too long at anything until he finds a couple he likes. “Wow. You’re like, the cutest baby ever, angels must be shitting themselves in jealousy.”

Even with the dumb phrasing the compliment makes John blush, and he grins as he messes with his bunny. She’s all ratty and she isn’t dirty really, just obviously old. She was a light brown at some point, but she has dirtied with age. The ear Dave had is torn at the bottom, once again after he and his dad both have sewn it up dozens of times. “Yeah, I know. I was a pretty adorable kid.”

“Not too bad as an adult, either,” he bumps their shoulders together, smirking. His smile only gets wider as he playfully pushes back.

“Same to you, although you’ve come a long way since middle school. At least, if the pictures in Rose’s apartment are anything to go by.”

“Shit, no, please don’t tell me you’ve seen those, she picks the _worst_ pictures,” he groans. He laughs and leans his weight against Dave, looking down at the pictures. Right down, he’s got the book open to a couple pictures of him at his cousin Jade’s house, laying with her giant dog. Dave shifts to wrap an arm around him and keeps flipping, going through the whole book pretty fast.

“I’ve totally seen them, dude. In fact, I’ve looked at all the pictures in there so many times I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you the first time I saw you.” Now’s the perfect time, he thinks to himself. Maybe not to just show him outright, but to work up to the conversation. It’s the first opportunity he has gotten in a while, and he’s going to take it.

“Probably distracted. I’m pretty stunning.”

John sets his hand on Dave’s thigh, close to his hipbone, and leans over to peck him on the cheek. “Of course you are, but that wasn’t all of it.”

The older turns his head and kind of nuzzles into his hair, working wonders to calm his sudden nerves without even knowing it. “What, then, my violin? I know you have like some musician’s boner.”

He’s pretty sure his hands start to shake just a little as he waits, contemplating his answer. “Well, yeah. That was part of it.”

Dave sets the book down, kissing his forehead almost absent-mindedly. “What?”

 _This is it. Today is the day._ His face heats up and he can’t meet Dave’s eyes for a good ten, twenty seconds. “Remember which song you played?”

He’s getting to sound less gentle and more apprehensive, removing his arms from his shoulders and putting a little space between them. Why is he doing that. “Uhh, yeah. Green Day, right? 21 Guns.”

He nods, clearing his throat. He can’t do this. “Yeah. Do you remember the first line?”

“Yes, I remember the first line.” He’ll just make Dave do it. That is such a better idea.

He finally looks up at meet his eyes, determined not to back out. “Pull the collar of my sweater aside. Please.”

He’s glad he looked, even if he can’t figure out what Dave’s thinking, because the look in his eyes isn’t sad, or angry, or even afraid. He can’t read it. They just look at each other, for a moment, red and blue, and then Dave moves his gaze down and reaches out. His hand is shaking and he moves kind of like he’s afraid going too fast will break them, and it just might. But just like that, he pulls on his collar until he can see his tattoo, and just like the years before, it reads _Do you know what’s worth fighting for?_.

John feels almost like he’s going to start crying. He doesn’t really know what to do with himself so he just smiles shakily and softly says, “It’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shay’s notes: WOW I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN APOLOGIZE ENOUGH FOR HOW LONG IT’S BEEN SINCE THE LAST UPDATE!!! gosh it’s been so long we are so sorry!! school is so busy and personally it’s been kicking my ass already so i’ve been trying to get a lot of work done and it’s just. gosh. i’ve barely even talked to renee since it started so that’s just how busy it’s been. i’m so so so so sorry we made you guys wait so long for this but i hope i can promise that you will NOT have to wait that long again for the last chapter uou


	12. Meteor Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I can finally see_  
>  That you're right there beside me"  
> Meteor Shower by Owl City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s been (almost) ready for months now, and both of us are really sorry that it took so long to get out. Since school started, neither of us have had much time with this. Finally, our beta (and best friend) Loren wrote the last page or so and I decided fuck it, that’s definitely good enough.  
> The support from the last chapter kind of hit me hard. I forgot that so many people love this, that I love this, that I love these two characters and yeah I love Shay too, that’s pretty important. Thank you. I mean, we got fucking fanart!!!! Go look. ((http://thewolvesrunwild.tumblr.com/post/100418126037/so-ive-been-reading-this-fic-on-ao3-because))  
> A lot of people are sad to see it go, myself included, but the good thing is that this isn’t a complete end. For one, we have more one-shots to pump out, some I was supposed to write like months ago. Who knows what will end up happening between these two.  
> Second, this isn’t the end of us. I don’t know about Shay, but I’ve been trying my hand at writing some things on my own. Nothing’s come of it so far but some frustration and disjointed notes, but I wrote like twenty thousand words of a potential Gravity Falls fic a couple weeks ago.  
> As it is, thank you for everything, and enjoy.

There is an old legend that a god walks among mortals, tying a red string around pairs of people destined to be lovers. In the past, nobody could see these strings, but sometimes humans could feel them. When their soulmate longed for them, needed them, they would feel the string vibrating around their heart. Nothing caused the string to shake harder than seeing their destiny for the first time, and the first words they told each other would resonate so deeply between them that the words engraved themselves into the lovers’ skin. It was proof that they would stick together as long as they walked the earth, and finally people could be happy.

A soulmate is one simple certainty in life, right alongside death and taxes. But really, it’s so, so much more than that.

_John Egbert is my soulmate._

It’s someone to wake up to every day. Someone you can feel, beside you, warmth and breath and light. It’s someone to share every joke and every story and every tear with.

_My actual, real soulmate._

It’s someone you know who can never disappoint you. Someone who will never leave you. Everything about them is suited to you, soothing your soul with just their presence.

_My soulmate. Right here, and he’s not going to leave._

“Dave?” John’s small voice breaks through his thoughts, wavering as he speaks, even on the one word. He’s nowhere near done freaking out/looking at him/wrapping his brain around this, but he looks really scared, and there’s no reason to be. Not anymore.

He realizes he’s crying when the salt burns his lips. The only thing he can really think to do is lean forward, pull him close, and hug him. “I’m so glad.”

John takes a minute to respond but soon he’s got his arms around him tight, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He’s crying too, he can feel the tears against his skin. “Me too.”

He spends a long time sitting on John’s bed, in his tiny dorm room, holding him like a lifeline. Thinking about all their time together, what they’ve already been through but also a little bit of what’s to come. Because he knows for sure, now, that he’s spending the rest of his life with him. Mostly, though, he thinks about the first words John ever said to him, and how finally he got them right.

Eventually he has to let go just to take a few deep breaths and wipe the tears away. His shirt’s wet, too, but it doesn’t really matter. Thinking about it, he realizes, “You knew all along, didn’t you.”

John starts wiping at his eyes too, but now he’s laughing through a big grin. “You didn’t think I wanted to buy you dinner so bad just because of your looks, did you?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” he answers softly-he’s not laughing because he’s still stuck on that, that John knew the whole time and never told him. _God, he saw my fucking tattoo._ When he first asked him out yeah, but also when he saw his tattoo and when Dave tried to kiss him and when he spent so long thinking _one day you’re going to leave._ “Why?”

He’s not smiling anymore, face set in more of a neutral, if somewhat pouty, expression. He knows exactly what he’s getting at; that he wants to know John’s reasons for keeping quiet. “I… Didn’t want to scare you off,” John admits in a quiet voice. “I remember at the very beginning, the first time I ever mentioned the tattoo thing to you, you were really curt and straightforward about your opinion on it. And then you told me about your violin, and all of the others, and I didn’t want to be just another notch in the wood. I wanted to be someone important, someone worth remembering.”

Fuck. “No!” He fucked up so, so bad. He already knew that, but it’s something else entirely to have the knowledge that _everything bad in the last several months that’s happened is his own damn fault_ shoved in his face. And he hurt John. Fuck. “You’re not-Fuck, I’m sorry, that I was so fucking stupid, that’s not-” He can’t figure out what to say, how to fix this, and he has to wipe his eyes again. John’s hands pass over his own as he runs his fingers through his hair and then grips his shoulders.

“Hey. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re not supposed to be crying right now.” Through the blurry tears he can see John looking right at him, stern.

“No, it’s not-you’re so incredibly important John, and I’m sorry,” his voice hitches, “for ever making you think anything else, you m-mean the world to me.”

The hands on his shoulders move up to his head, smoothly tangled the light strands, and John huffs loudly. “Dave! You have never made me feel like I wasn’t important. Maybe in early October, maybe, but certainly not after that, not anytime recently. So, stop apologizing, and please stop crying. I love you, okay? I love you.”

In a sort of revenge, he leans his head against his collar bone and tries to stop crying, hands going loosely around his waist. John’s hands slide off of his shoulders and hold him comfortingly. He wants to apologize again, but John actually kind of seems mad. Thinking about it makes him huff out a laugh. “I love you too.”

He wants, so badly, to just trust John, he _needs_ to, but he still knows he can’t. Not completely. Because the last time he did that was what hurt him, and he has to have learned from his mistakes. He thinks that maybe, though, he can still hope, and somewhere he knows John isn’t ever going to leave.

* * *

Despite telling himself so every single day, John had never really felt like he would actually meet his soulmate. It wasn’t that he felt like it wouldn’t ever happen, but he thought it would just be more of a gradual thing, like he would hear someone from a distance say his phrase, and then pursue a friendship with them, during which he would fall in love. Not something huge like this, something directly in his face and  _for him_ .

Dave is huge to him. He hasn’t known him very long at all, but that’s what falling in love is like, he supposes. It just hits you, because of a street performer in a metro station, and then it’s all you can think about, all you can feel, all that you know. Every fiber of your being is alight with it, ignited all at once from the words held so dear to you for years and years, burning you up from the inside out.

Maybe that feeling was intensified by the pesky little soulmates thing. That was rumored to have happened sometimes, but John had always brushed it off as gushy, lovesick couples. Maybe they were right, but John likes to believe that maybe he and Dave can have this kind of chemistry on their own. They seemed to, anyway, before they knew for certain, when John only had a sneaking suspicion and Dave had little faith.

As he holds the other boy in his arms he can’t help but be grateful for every stupid second of every day, every stupid mistake and every moment that put a huge, dumb smile on his face, and every moment that he felt like he was falling apart because he couldn’t get enough air past the tears and into his lungs, because all of it led to Dave somehow. All of it brought him to that moment in the station, when he asked for music, and his eyes lit up and Dave tried to push him away but he didn’t give up. He never gave up, he stayed, and now he’s so fucking thankful for it.

It means he gets to spend hours laying there, cuddling his boyfriend. It means he even gets the chance to date Dave.

After some time of Dave just touching over his shoulder, he shifts impatiently to pull his shirt off because the skin-to-cloth-to-skin contact just isn’t enough, and there is really no reason for him to be shy or scared anymore. This is _Dave_ , who hovers beside him like he wants to help, but as soon as the shirt is tossed off to the side Dave is on him. His traces his fingers, and then his lips, over his tattoo, and John can’t help the little shiver that runs down his spine at the kisses, so he hangs his head and hides his smile in Dave’s hair. Until he hears him laugh, that is. "Jesus, my handwriting is awful.”

He just smiles even bigger and nuzzles him, snickering a bit himself. “I know. You write with straight lines, dude. Completely straight lines.”

He tips his head up and steals a kiss, and if someone can taste like laughter, Dave does. Sadly he pulls back too soon. “Do you wanna see-?”

“Yes, of course.” Now it won’t get weird if he tries to touch him, like the last time. He won’t tense up under his fingertips, at least not as much as before.

Just like that, Dave pulls his shirt off and squirms around on the bed so his back is facing John, and there it is. Stark black against his skin, _Play me a song_ along the curve of his shoulder blade. He scoots so he can sit behind Dave, legs on either side of him, and run his hands across his back. Eventually his fingers find Dave’s shoulder and he draws the letters again, copying Dave and kissing him right between the words.

It’s so weird, the whole tattoo thing. When John really thinks about it, everyone is ideally supposed to live their lives obsessed with these phrases, and what about the people who never find their soulmate? They just spend their entire lives, every single day, wondering about something that was completely invalid anyway. It’s not like they could even just try to ignore it, it’s that everyone who wants romance in their lives is dictated by these stupid markings. Every new person they meet, or really just anyone, they always have to have their ears straining to hear it. And frankly, as someone who had spent almost three years telling himself he would find his soulmate, that was bullshit.

And what about the people with common phrases? Were they supposed to spend their hope on every person who came by prattling off the words? No one had that much, no matter how optimistic they claim to be. Life already beats him down enough, John would hate to imagine trying to get through his life like that. Painfully similar to someone he knew.

“What are you thinking about?” Dave’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and rightly so. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that kind of stuff, not while he had the chance to actually physically be with Dave, with permission to.

“It’s weird. Weird, and stupid, and I don’t like it.” He answers, fingers running down Dave’s spine and making him jump. He laughs a little as his fingers hop over the bumps of his bones. “Not your tattoo. I mean, just, tattoos in general. I think I understand what you meant now.”

He’s glad he can’t see his face, because his tone is all grumbly. “I feel like I should be insulted.”

John presses himself against him, chest to back, and wraps his arms around his stomach. He turns his head to rest his cheek right by his tattoo, since he can’t quite reach his shoulder. “Hey now, that’s not what I meant. I just think it’s unfair for people to have to be subjected and tied down to a couple of words on their skin. Especially after hearing your story.” John's really just sad because he _knows_ there are other people out there who are in the same situation that Dave was four months ago, but there might not be hope for them, too. The world isn’t that big, after all, and that kind of patience does not exist.

He can feel him shrug. “I think I’ve come to like it, actually.” How weird, that their positions have been entirely reversed since they first met. He waits patiently, hoping his silence will prompt further explanation. “I mean, I met you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, rubbing his side. “I guess you did. I’m really thankful for that, too.”

His boyfriend spends another minute turning around, then wraps his arms around him only to push until he’s lying back on the bed. The new position isn’t as startling when he presses their lips together, soft and sweet, and John can feel his breath when he exhales. Dave slips his free hand up to play with stands of his hair while John’s hands fall to his sides. His fingers slip up under Dave’s shirt and skirt along his hipbones, making him breathe in sharply and so the brunette tilts his head and licks over and past his lips.

Hands wander as they kiss, and simultaneously too much and not enough time passes before John has to pull away to breathe. Dave surprises him by ducking down, and just the sensation of his hot breath on John's neck is almost overwhelming, but when he actually kisses there? Without even thinking about it he lifts his hand, setting it over Dave's shoulders and holding onto the back of his shirt, right above his tattoo. He spends a long time licking the hollow of his throat and sucking gently on the cords of his neck, eventually getting to his collarbone once again, and it makes John’s toes curl. Hands get moved around; one tightens in Dave's hair, one traces John's tattoo, just like earlier, only now his hand tightens on his shoulder and he sucks on John's skin, hard. John tightens his own grip, whining softly and flushing, embarrassed. Of course Dave hears and after he gives his collarbone one last kiss, he's smirking.

“Did you really just…?” John asks through a breathy laugh. It’s not necessarily a bad thing if there’s a new, soft hickey on his neck; in fact, he’d rather have one than none. He cards his hand through the other’s hair, playing the longer bits at the nape between his fingertips. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Did I really just what?” It’s kind of distracting, how he’s rubbing circles with his thumb into his skin.

“You know what.” He raises an eyebrow at him because Dave definitely knows what he’s talking about. He can see it in his dark eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s clear he couldn’t even keep the smirk off his face at this point if he tried. God, he loves him so much.

He twirls a strand of his blonde hair around his finger, tapping at the ends of it. It's really soft between his fingertips. He's warm, and everywhere they're touching is relaxed, comforted. "Yes you do," he answers a little later, "Did you leave a mark?"

Dave leans his head down again and he thinks he’s gonna try again, but he just rests there. He can feel his eyelashes, ticklish, but doesn’t dare move. “Yeah. Gonna leave more, too.” The thought sets his belly on fire and makes him antsy enough to fidget just the slightest.

_We were having a moment. I was thinking through things, and I wanted to talk about them with you._ “Hips,” is all he says instead, because fuck if the idea of bruises left by Dave in such a prominent place didn’t make him weak. He isn’t asking for it, exactly, just letting him know what he likes.

And god, John is so excited for when they get to learn each other like that. No matter how pure his intentions have been since the very beginning, he is still a young man, his hormones are still in full gear, and Dave is still one of the most incredibly attractive men he has probably ever seen. He would be lying if he said the reason he lost so much sleep over Dave was purely thinking through things.

Dave seems to be of similar mind, squirming down and tugging his shirt up enough that he can get to his hips and kiss his navel, then further to the side instead of down, _god what if he just went down_ to suck bruises on his hips as instructed. John isn't really sure where all of his blood is going; quite a lot of it is rushing downwards, but at the same time he can feel the tips of his ears and his cheeks burning. A particularly sharp bite sends a sting up his body and he lets out a soft gasp, grabbing the sheets on his bed.

It wasn't like he hadn't done this before. He had fooled around with his friend in school, kissed girls too, but he hadn't ever had an experience so serious, so intimate, never felt so vulnerable and safe all at once.

Dave stops, of course he fucking stops, rubbing his fingers over his sides but not kissing him. So John just takes a moment to breathe and settle down, waiting for him to make the next move.

Dave stares up at him, chin resting on his naval. “Did you, uh,” look at that, he’s blushing. “Did you want to continue- this?” They both know that being indecisive right now would be a pretty bad idea, not to mention lead to some awkward fumblings, so he lets himself think it over. His boyfriend- no, _soulmate_ waits patiently.

It isn’t that John doesn’t trust him. He has always trusted Dave, even from the first day, and that has only solidified after time. It isn’t that he is self-conscious either- he’s comfortable enough with his body. It wasn't even that he hadn't been in this situation before either, but it had been years since then and never with someone he had actually cared about.

But he trusts him, so he nods. The smile Dave gives in return is so open, so honest and happy that it melts away some of his insecurities. Dave kisses his naval again but doesn't waste time, undoing the button and zipper on his pants, sliding them down to his knees while John lifts his hips to help. He _does_ spend a while kissing the rapidly growing bulge in his briefs, mouthing over the head. The wet fabric stars sticking to his skin and John whines, trying to refrain from tangling his fingers in Dave’s hair because he never wants to hurt him. The blonde takes care of the problem for him, grabbing one of his hands and holding on tight, still using the other to stroke over his hip and thigh.

The combined sensations make him feel a little light-headed; dizzy with too many feelings. He doesn't notice he's shivering until Dave pulls away, just long enough to hook his thumb under his waistband and pull his underwear off. The cold air hits his erection and he almost hisses. The blonde makes up for it fast, lapping at his head and _wow_ , it's been too long.

It doesn’t take very long, and he might be embarrassed if it was anyone other than Dave coaxing little whines and gasps from him. When he comes, it’s with the overwhelming feeling that he is safe here; safe and loved and cared for. When he returns the favor, it’s with absolute determination to make Dave feel the same.

* * *

They cannot, in actuality, lay there forever.

John is the one that cleans them up, being the caring, sexy Disney prince that he is, and then they lay around in his bed for a long time. They don’t talk much. It feels like Thanksgiving night, when they had curled up in Dave’s bed with the lights off and talked about whatever had crossed their minds because it was safe, then, in the dark. It’s safe now. The sun is hitting the wall over his head and he can see all the way into where the blue of John’s eyes stops being eyes and starts being the sky at dusk, when you turn your back on the sun and watch the night creep closer, but he can say anything he wants here, without impact. What he says usually ends up being, “I love you.”

The skin where his tattoo is feels warm. Maybe because John had been touching it, more than touched it, maybe because every now and then he would still touch it, but Dave kind of thinks it’s something more than that. Everyone always wondered if there was something else to the soulmates thing, the effects it had on a person. He knows that being around John makes him steadier, if only a little. He thinks about that old story, the red strings of fate, and he thinks maybe their string is stronger for everything that happened.

Not just today. Everything. It took them so fucking long to be able to lay here and touch each other so openly, to love so openly and yeah, it’s his fault. John can say what he wants but it will take him a long time to forgive himself for that, if ever.

Everything, though. It’s a lot. How long has he known John? A few months? He wants to thank him. For the big things, yeah, but for the little things too. For smiling at him. For being brave enough to stick around and poke the sleeping bear when Dave was doing his best to radiate _Fuck off_.

Feeling John shift to lean his head against his chest, he thinks, _maybe later._ He glances down to find John’s eyes fixated at his face, large pupils hiding most of the deep blue. He taps Dave on the chest, looking a little concerned. “Are you alright?”

Dave nods a little too quickly, eager to reassure him because nothing could _possibly_ be wrong right now. “Yeah man I’m fine, why?”

John shifts so he’s sitting up, his back against the headboard. You can feel the mattress move as he takes a deep breath. “You seem off. I think we’re on the same page about all this,  but if not, like if there are things you still need to say or that you need from me, we need to talk about that. Now, probably, since lack of communication has only been a problem for us so far. And because I’m here now, and there are really not many other people that can speak for me in my place. Actually there are none. None other people. So I mean. If there's something wrong, those who have the ability to take action have the responsibility to take action.”

That last sentence is mumbled, flowing better than anything else John had just said and so instantly catches Dave’s suspicion.

“Please tell me you didn’t just quote some lameass movie.” John’s sheepish smile is all the confirmation Dave needs. He levels John with a blank stare for a moment before asking which movie, so he can assess just how much teasing was appropriate.

“I don’t remember!” John starts squirming about now, shifting the mattress as he does which is very unfortunate; Dave is very comfortable right where he are. “They all kind of blur together into a mass of explosions and one-liners until it’s really just not a good idea to try and separate them into-”

The blonde rolls over and slings a leg over John’s lap, pulling himself up to sit. Instantly, he regrets leaving the warmth of the sheets, but John shuts up, so at least it got him what he wants.

“...National Treasure.” John whispers, surprised. It’s adorable. Dave’s mouth pulls into a small smile.

“I’m not comfortable with you bringing Nic Cage into this relationship. You’re ruining this for me, Egbert.” The older leans forward, lifting an arm to balance his weight against the headboard. John’s eyes are still so wide and so, so blue. They fill Dave with a warmth that he never wants to leave, and with a wave of joy he realizes he won’t ever have to. “Totally ruined,” he continues, and touches their lips together once, gently, before pulling away. “There is just no way that this could be any worse.” One of John’s hands comes to rest on the other’s knee as their lips find each other’s again, and for the first time in Dave’s life (but certainly not the last), he’s grateful for all the heartbreaks, and the tears, and all the times he splintered over someone else. Because all of those moments lead him here. All of the nights spent alone, wondering what the fuck was so wrong with him that he was seemingly doomed to never find the one person that would actually love him. He is grateful. Grateful because they led him here. They led him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you added up all the time i’ve spent staring off into space thinking of how to start this, in class or in the shower or in the supermarket, i don’t even want to know how much time i’ve wasted just trying to put all of this into words. working on this fic has been a really big step for me. i used to write, when i was younger, but as i got older and found my way into roleplay and then homestuck, i would do that all the time. but renee was the one who suggested we make this roleplay into an actual fic, and i can’t thank her enough for that. i’ve never been able to finish a story except for one, let alone get twelve chapters (twelve chapters!!!) into it, so this is huge for me on several different levels.  
> it’s true that we aren’t entirely finished. with this story, yes; but don’t forget that this is a series! tentative plans are already in place for different scenarios within this au that we’re going to write. and if anyone has any ideas or requests for more things that you want to see, please leave us comments on any of the works in this series or shoot us asks on our blogs (renee-descartes and classicpepsicola)!  
> i hope you all have enjoyed reading postcard as much as renee and i have enjoyed writing it, even with the short hiatus (compared to that gigapause, am i right?). thank you so, so much for reading, for the comments, for the fanarts and for all of the support.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: postcard was created because one day I ran into Shay on parp and we rped for a few days about a dave who could play violin and the boys ended up confessing and being really happy together and going on this cute dancing date and we both thought the other was great and hilarious so when we ran out of plot one of us went "hey this was great lets do another" so we wrote out a really shitty prompt for about two hours until I saw THE soulmate post on tumblr and went "hey, we should, we should do this bc this rp sucks" and something beautiful was born.


End file.
